


Kept in the dark

by SnippetsRUs



Series: Daughters of Karsus [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: AU, Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Anauroch, Angst, Bounty Hunters, Camels - Freeform, Cat, Chessenta, Chessentan, Comatose, Cult of Entropy, Dark Elf, Dead Languages, Desert, Devils, Discovery, Drow, Dwarf, Enclave, Entropy, Experiment, F/M, Fan Characters, Fantasy, Gen, Gore, Humans, Humor, Karanok, Librarian - Freeform, Luthcheq, Magic, Magical Experimentation, Memory Loss, Mountains, Mysteries, Mystery, Netherese, Netherese enclave, Netheril, Nudity, Princess - Freeform, Romance, Ruins, Secrets, Shades, Shadovar, Snakes, Spelunking, Spiders, Stranger - Freeform, Succubus, Suspended Animation, Temple, Untheric, Waterdeep, Witch - Freeform, Witchcraft, archwizards, beholders, burnt elf, carrion crawlers, cat familiar, cat piss, chardalyns, cleric, cultists of the shattered peak, dead bodies, dungeon delving, dwarf vs cat, elven blood, fall of Netheril, fallen empires, familiar, half-eaten people, halted ageing, innkeeper, keys, magical preservation, magical slumber, medusae, mercenary, new deity, priestess - Freeform, scorpions, shadow weave, sorcery, spellfire, succubus queen, torchbearer, vultures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jarlaxle and Athrogate are given a seemingly lucrative job offer to look up three expeditions that went missing in the Anauroch desert, but something happens that neither of them expected. Now they must delve into the dark ruins of a Netherese enclave to get to the bottom of the mysteries that surround them, and in the company of a stranger whose tale is as suspicious as it is fantastic. What will they find buried in the sand? Read and find out.</p><p>AU story set after the Sellswords Trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A stranger in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> Jarlaxle and Athrogate are the property of R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms and Karsus the archwizard are the property of Wizards of the Coast. Fan characters belong to SnippetsRUs. Other canon characters may appear throughout the story. Adeline belongs to spadiekitchenqueen on deviantArt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild stranger appears. Jarlaxle uses rope weapon. It's super effective. Athrogate gets along just fine with camels, but not so much vultures.

"...quarantine is over.” The voice was like a shriek, piercing through her ears and sending shocks of pain through her brain. Her head lolled back and forth and she was unable to move her arms or legs. Everywhere around her was darkness, but she felt she was lying on a bed. “Yes, it's safe to send her.” There was a moment of silence. “She's strong and fit. Once the narcosis wears off-”

It was the last thing she heard as the voice trailed off. Above her floated a beautiful woman with dark brown hair, pale skin and dark eyes. Her hair was curly and put in a neat hairstyle, a tiara of golden laurels adorning her head. She wore a white dress that reached down to above her knees. A saffron-coloured shawl hung over her arms, and on her feet were golden sandals. Golden jewellery danced on her wrists, upper arms and hands, and around her neck hung a silver key at the end of a silver chain.

That key was meant for her. It was the first of many that she had to gather. Gather in order to remember. Who was she? Who was this woman floating above her? Everything around her was silent. Ever-pervasive, intrusive silence, piercing through skin, flesh, muscle and sinew and echoing through bones with its oppressive existence.

The narcosis wore off. She knew because of the tingling sensation on her skin, like tiny spiders crawled all over her body. Soon enough they did, small critters with the promise of death.

She had to take the key. Her arm could be moved now, and she reached up with it. Once she had it, she knew for reasons she didn't understand, she had to call the woman's name. Otherwise she would be all alone when she awoke, and the silence would continue.

No matter how much she reached, her fingers wouldn't close in around the key. It was because she doubted herself, she realised. Did she really want this? Maybe being alone and in perpetuating silence was preferable. Silver always messed things up. Its glow burned and erased the blissful, peaceful silence.

 _No_.

Silver was the soft, pale glow that pierced through oppression and led to freedom. Its greatest beauty came into being when it was surrounded by darkness. She wanted this. Her heart and mind called out to the key and it fell from the the woman's neck and landed in her hand.

She closed her fingers around it and a name was whispered in her mind in a voice that she knew wasn't hers. Her voice called out that name, and the woman above her smiled. Then she fell into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Camels were interesting creatures. He'd never thought something so odd could exist, but like with many other things, the surface had brought him many peculiar lessons. Like how hot the sun could get over the desert this time of the year. It was one of very rare occasions when he willingly wore white over everything except his head.

In addition to being interesting, camels were also obstinate. Had it not been for the Bedine man's insistence that he let the camel decide where to go, he would have probably struggled against it for a good portion of the way. Despite his scepticism about letting another creature lead, however, Jarlaxle found that he and his dwarven companion, Athrogate, were not far from their intended destination.

Said destination was the ruins of a Netherese city, believed to be Eileanar in archaeological circles, which the dark elf had learned had been the enclave of the archwizard Karsus. All mages knew of Karsus, even the ones among Jarlaxle's race. A great and powerful human wizard – two adjectives that dark elves were extremely loathe to use about humans – had become the god of magic with a single spell. This had resulted in the death of the goddess that governed the Weave, and all magic had disappeared as a result. She was reborn shortly after and saved all magic in so doing, but Karsus and his magical empire were destroyed in the process.

An expedition of archaeologists from Waterdeep had set out to uncover what secrets lay in the ruins, but after two years in the field did they suddenly go missing. Perfect timing, really, as Jarlaxle had just arrived in the city after leaving Memnon behind. At first he hadn't been desirable for hire, but when two more expeditions sent didn't return, a group of desperate nobles turned to him and the dwarf. The mercenary was happy to oblige and after discussing payment, they were off.

Their guide stopped when they reached a certain point, the sun having reached its zenith, saying he would go no further. He accepted only two thirds of the payment and said he would return when Jarlaxle called. The drow accepted the first and doubted the second, but wasn't terribly worried since he'd already prepared for a back-up exit out of the desert if the Bedine proved treacherous. _If_. He'd been on the surface for too long. The man gave them a stern warning about the ruins being haunted, just as he'd said to the people of the other three expeditions to the place, after which he left.

Jarlaxle's scepticism kicked in and he cast a spell of magic-detection on the sands before him. The camel stood perfectly still as he did so, the mercenary's red eyes scanning the area. No magical auras stood out to him, but he was not reassured. He called upon a power of his dark elf heritage next, one that let him glean people's souls, to see what they were made of. The spell required him to choose either good, evil, chaos or law. Considering the nature of the desert, the shifty look on the face of his guide and who were more likely to be out to get him, the mercenary settled for evil.

Unsurprisingly, the camels and dwarf didn't stand out as such, but a strong aura emanated in the area. There was only one and it was beneath the sands in front of him. Hiding, no doubt, waiting for easy prey that the Bedine lured its way so they would be spared. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened to the other expeditions.

Bringing out a wand he'd bought in Waterdeep, he pointed it in the direction of the aura and uttered a command word. A gust of wind sent the sand whirling about and out of it came a hideous, green creature with moist, scaly skin – peculiar seeing that in a desert – but Jarlaxle knew the creature for what it was. Athrogate let out a battle cry, though the camel he sat on didn't share his enthusiasm for engaging the monster in front of them. The next wand Jarlaxle picked out fired a lightning bolt right into the monster's head and it winked out of existence with a pained roar. A disappointed grunt sounded from the dwarf, but when the drow looked back, he saw that his stout companion was disappointed with his mount rather than the elf.

“What was that?” the dwarf asked once he was done glaring at the uncaring beast beneath him.

“A bearded devil,” he said to his puzzled companion. “I'm not sure why it made this desert its home, but sending it back to Hell should make finding survivors easier.”

“Aye,” Athrogate agreed and touched his beard, his eyes glued ahead, “unless it ate them all.” Then he bawled with laughter.

Jarlaxle kicked his camel into moving, the dwarf following suit. After a good while did the ruins finally come into view, but so did a lone figure approaching them on slow, unsteady feet. The drow's keen eyes easily spotted a blanket over the person's head, upper body and thighs, but everything else was bare. He didn't stop his mount, but he slowed the beast down, and cast the same magic-detecting spell from before. No illusions or transformations had taken or took place, the spell informed him. In fact, the figure seemed perfectly mundane. That didn't mean he or she wasn't a spellcaster, however, and he activated a spell in one of his rings that was more powerful than the one he'd just cast.

The person did indeed possess magic, but it was faint. Divine and arcane, it seemed, both about as weak. That was preferable, as Jarlaxle couldn't stand powerful clerics. The stranger's most powerful divine spells were some minor healing. Among the arcane spells were some divinations, but also a spell to summon a ray of fire and an illusion. Jarlaxle immediately grew wary, because he knew the dweomer he was under could sometimes be misleading. If the spellcaster had used up most of his or her spells for the day, then they would look much weaker than they in reality were. Still, he should be able to handle the stranger at their current level, and stopped the camel once he was directly in front of them. The lone walker pulled back the blanket from their head and revealed dark blonde hair, pale skin and green eyes – on a woman's face. She looked up at him and her eyes grew wide with fear. In fact, her entire form began to tremble and she started backing away. Her stumbling feet took her off the side of the sand dune, however, and she fell backwards with a yelp.

Jarlaxle brought out a rod and uttered a command word. It changed into a lasso and he tossed it at the falling woman. It caught her just as she was about to crash into the sands, tightened securely around her and then set to the task of dragging her back towards him. He tied his end of the rope to the camel's saddle to secure it and waited patiently. The woman kicked her legs out, but not in some vain attempt to escape, as it turned out, but rather to steady herself. She still stumbled around a bit, but soon enough stood next to his mount, her head hanging low. Words came from her mouth, but he didn't understand the language, so he brought out an orb that translated such things for him and activated it.

“I'm afraid I didn't understand what you said,” he told her. “Mind repeating?”

“...thank you for catching me,” she said, although judging from the pout on her lips it had been a difficult thing to say. “I'm sorry for my initial reaction.” Those words were matched by a tone and face that told him they were genuine.

“Apology accepted,” he said and ordered the rope-made rod to release her. She nearly collapsed, but managed to gather herself, covering her head and upper body with the blanket once more, but not before the drow spotted a silver key dangling at the end of a chain around her neck and a red pendant with a sigil on that he'd never seen before. Her holy symbol, perhaps? “My name is Jarlaxle and this is my companion Athrogate. What's your name?”

Silence followed and her face scrunched up in confusion. “...I don't know.” Distress followed and one of her hands went up to cover her eyes. “I'm sorry, I'm trying my best, but I don't know.” He noticed she bit down on her lip and sniffled. Jarlaxle fought back a sigh. Of course the first survivor they came across was suffering from amnesia.

Still, there could be others, and if the trail behind her was true, then she came from the ruins up ahead. “No need to be, memory losses can happen to anyone,” he said with a reassuring tone. She sniffled again, nodded and wiped her eyes. “Pray tell, how did you end up wandering the desert on your own?”

“I had to get away from the ruins,” she said and stared at her feet.

“Why?” the mercenary asked, but she shook her head and wouldn't speak. It wasn't hard to guess that something had traumatised her. Something that had probably burned through most of her spells, too, though why she was naked was anyone's guess. She didn't seem to be wounded, either.

It could very well be a trick, though if she was a shape-shifting creature or under the effect of a transformative spell, then his own magic would have revealed it to him. No, she was very much human, but she could be skilled at acting.

“Did you come here with one of the expeditions from Waterdeep?” the dark elf asked, though if she really did have amnesia, then she probably wouldn't remember.

She looked confused. “Waterdeep?”

He nodded. “Does it sound familiar to you?”

Silence followed as she muttered the name to herself over and over. Then she shook her head. “I've never heard of it.”

Jarlaxle frowned, but then another part of him kicked in, the part that found mysteries inexplicably exciting. “What language are you speaking? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it.”

“Loross, of course,” she said without hesitation, giving him a look as if that should be obvious. Loross, the mercenary knew, was the language of Netherese nobles. It was also a dead language. “I didn't expect there to be so much sand here, though.” Her eyes scanned the area. “For some reason I thought it would be different.”

Jarlaxle's curiosity was tickled, but it peaked when he saw her looking to the sky and frowning. “Expecting flying cities?”

Realisation seemed to dawn on her, as if those few words had sparked a part of her memory. “Yes, actually.” Confusion followed and she looked around, but only more sand and empty sky surrounded them. Then she seemed to remember something else and looked back towards the ruins.

“Yes, that was once a flying city,” he informed her. She stood completely still, Jarlaxle guessing that she was trying to absorb all that information. “The Netherese empire came crashing down over one thousand seven hundred years ago.” He waited patiently for her response.

He didn't have to wait long. “What year is it now?”

“Thirteen-seventy, Dale Reckoning,” he replied, but then thought better of it as the Dale Reckoning calendar didn't exist back in the time of Netheril. He quickly referenced notes that he'd taken in Waterdeep after talking to some archaeologists. “That would be thirty-five twenty by the Netheril Year Calendar when Netheril fell. This year is then fifty-two twenty-nine for you.” Provided she had somehow not only survived the fall, but hadn't aged for well over a thousand years. It was unlikely, but then again, the Netherese were known for making the unlikely happen. An empire of flying cities, for example. “Do you know those ruins?”

“Only what I saw of it earlier today,” she replied, a response that he hadn't wished for. “I did have to go through every level in order to get out of there, though.”

That helped. “You can't survive in the desert like that, and my companion and me could use a guide.”

“So, I help you through the ruins and you lead me out of the desert,” she summarised, still not looking at the mercenary. “I trust you understand I had a very good reason for leaving?”

“Of course,” the dark elf said, “but with a little rest and some food, as well as capable companions, I'm sure that reason can be overcome.” Especially once she'd replenished her spells and he could take full stock of her power.

“The resources in that area are scarce,” she informed him, “and I doubt you packed enough food for three.”

“Lass got that right,” Athrogate remarked.

“You needn't worry about our resources, miss, we drow come prepared even for the unexpected,” Jarlaxle countered to both of them. In truth, he could summon a veritable feast if need be, and whatever he and the woman couldn't eat, the dwarf could probably gobble down for them.

“I've never even heard of drow before,” she said, and this time she looked at him, curiosity written all over her face. “Are you some form of burnt elf to have skin so dark?”

The dwarf snorted.

“Your people I know, though,” she continued, this time looking at Athrogate. “The shield dwarves, I recall, are great traders and craftsmen, and capable warriors. Stubborn and loyal to a fault.”

“And great drinkers,” he added, “tinkers and stinkers.” Then he roared with laughter.

“For shame,” she said, “I forgot the bluntness.”

“Ye're forgiven,” Athrogate shot back and laughed some more. This time she smiled. Jarlaxle watched on, puzzled and not sure if he should be amused or concerned that the dwarf's blunt personality worked better to calm this woman than his own charm did. He also wasn't quite done processing the burnt skin remark.

“If you've never heard of my race before, why did you react with fear when you saw me?” the mercenary decided to ask in the end. Her smile disappeared and a darkness came over her eyes.

“You look like something I saw in the ruins,” she explained.

“Something that needs killing?” Athrogate cut in hopefully.

“Something that did a lot of killing,” she clarified.

“Aye, that sounds about right,” the dwarf said heartily and kicked his camel into a start. The beast groaned but got moving, to much roaring laughter from the stout one. Jarlaxle and the woman stared after him as he disappeared into the distance.

Reaching down with his hand, he indicated the woman should grab it. The saddle he sat in was designed to hold two people, and there was no reason not to put it to use. “It will be faster this way,” he insisted when he saw the hesitant look on her face. Her eyes went from his hand and up to his face before going back to his hand again. Then she seemed to have made up her mind, as she first tossed her blanket over the saddle – leaving him to admire her naked form, which he did – and then she put one hand in his and the other on the saddle. It took a bit of effort, but fortunately she wasn't terribly heavy, and she quickly wrapped herself up in her blanket once seated. Jarlaxle got his camel moving, the woman keeping him quiet company along the way.

It didn't take long to reach the ruins, but when they did it was to the sound of indignant vultures and the roaring laughter of Athrogate. “Ye can have yer snack once I'm done checking 'em,” the drow heard the dwarf promise. One vulture drew near to Athrogate's camel, but a flying morningstar hit the bird in the head and it went down. Three other vultures dove in to eat their dead kin. It was hard to tell what races the corpses had been, seeing as most of them had been either partially or fully devoured. That didn't seem to stop the dwarf from examining them, however.

The vultures scattered upon Jarlaxle's arrival, squawking at him indignantly. The camel lowered itself to the ground and he and the woman got off.

“So, this mysterious assailant that you fled from,” the drow remarked as he led her over to a spot that was free of corpses and vultures and had them sit down, “would he or she have followed you to the surface?”

She shook her head. “No, he recoiled from the sun and disappeared back into the shadows.”

That sounded like a drow to Jarlaxle. One that was tinkering with Netherese secrets and apparently didn't like being discovered. No doubt a wizard or sorcerer of some kind, and powerful, too, to overcome three expeditions. Suddenly he wasn't so sure if he wanted to explore the ruins.

He mentally slapped himself for thinking such thoughts. Jarlaxle always delivered what he promised, and this time would be no different. It did bother him that so many people were dead and the only one who might know something about this place had amnesia or was a very skilled actress trying to lure them to their doom. Either one of them promised excitement, in a Netherese ruin that offered much magic on top of that, and he wasn't about to turn down such an adventure. Besides, if she really was suffering from a memory loss, and happened to be a survivor from ancient Netheril, it would be interesting to be around once she started to remember.

A small smile grew on the woman's lips, and revealed a lively, even somewhat attractive female underneath all the sand, sweat and grime, her eyes moving from Athrogate to Jarlaxle. “The heartiness is strong in him.”

Jarlaxle looked to his companion, who alternated between swatting away big birds and searching the bodies. “He takes great joy in hunting and fighting, like most other dwarves.”

Her smile turned warm. “I've always wanted to meet members of the Stout Folk. I've heard so many tales about them.”

“So you remember _some_ things from your past,” he observed.

She nodded. “Bits and pieces. Some things I can make sense of, others I can't.”

And she wasn't sharing all of it with him, even though she was all alone in a desert and he her only ticket out of it. That was smart, and Jarlaxle knew to take note of smart people. It could also mean that she had more resources readily available to her than she was letting on, with just one pesky drow mage standing in the way of whatever plans she had for these ruins.

The uncertainties were so high the dark elf was filled with delight.

“What more can you tell me about this mystery assailant that doesn't like sunlight?” His question stole her smile away, making him almost regret asking.

“His skin colour was the same as yours,” she began, “but he had hair on his head and was taller and broader.”

Considering how Jarlaxle was the tallest there was for male dark elves, he found himself excluding the idea of the enemy being a drow. Perhaps half drow, he mused.

His musings were interrupted by Athrogate loudly declaring that he wouldn't leave any treasures for the rest of them if they stayed behind much longer, before moving into the ruins with a roar. Biting back a sigh, the mercenary got up, followed by the woman – he should at least give her a name to call her by, if nothing else – and stepped into the darkness below. His keen ears picked up the sound of vultures making happy noises as they swooped back down to munch away at the corpses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're anything like me, then you probably dislike RAS' butchering of realmslore and realmsy facts. I was also bothered by how bland and dull Jarlaxle grew to be in the latter two books of the Sellswords Trilogy, as if RAS was desperately trying to snuff out the hint of friendship between him and Entreri that he'd created in the first one and make him look more evil than necessary. Nobody doubted Jarlaxle's evilness, but even evil characters can make friends. There was really nothing wrong with him and Entreri becoming friends, in my opinion.
> 
> Anyhow, know that you will find this story blissfully free of unnecessary evilness, but still with plenty of selfishness and chaos, without rancour and apology on my part. I don't claim in any way to understand Jarlaxle's character better than other fans, or even RAS himself, but I strive towards a certain level of character consistency in how I understand the mercenary from the earliest tales about him.
> 
> The reason why I'm writing this after the Sellswords Trilogy, despite my comments about it above, is simply because of Athrogate. In my opinion, he was about the only good thing to come out of those two books, apart from Snort the fiendish boar, and I couldn't bring myself to write this story without him.
> 
> If all goes well, I will probably include Entreri later on. Fan characters come with stories of their own and do not rely on canon characters to have value or serve a purpose. Pairings made because that's where the story brought me. Support them, be indifferent or oppose them, it's up to you. If you have any suggestions for how I can improve the story, feel free to leave me a comment with constructive criticism. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to incorporate all of it, but I will do my best. Please give kudos/bookmark if you like the story and wish to see more. Trolls and haters will be fed to Telamont Tanthul's pet dracolich.


	2. A rocky road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocks, boulders and broken stone stairs pose many a problem in dark, underground tunnels. What happens when hunger strikes on top of it? Nobody wants to eat the carrion crawlers, though, not even the dwarf. Good thing Jarlaxle comes bearing magic and the stranger has a good memory of the different levels. But has she overlooked something?

“She could be crazy,” Athrogate muttered as they made their way through the first level, the woman having walked up ahead to study the area. The archaeologists had uncovered much from beneath the sands, which made travelling through it easier, but it was strewn with corpses. Fortunately those hadn't been munched on yet, which allowed the pair to study them and determine the cause of their deaths.

“Or she could be the one who killed them all,” Jarlaxle supplied, “though she'd have wounds of her own if she did.” Then again, he reminded himself, she was a divine spellcaster as well as arcane. It could be that she'd healed herself. That didn't explain why she was naked, but that could very well be part of some nefarious scheme. Or it could be genuine. Jarlaxle was good either way.

Only a couple of the bodies showed signs of a struggle, suggesting that the group had been caught by surprise. Several of them wore fine armour and weapons, enchanted, and their belts held healing potions and various magical trinkets. Jarlaxle pocketed them all. Athrogate found a signet ring that belonged to House Wands. The body of the wizard that owned it was still fairly fresh and well-intact, but Jarlaxle didn't possess any magic that could bring him back to life. A shame, for returning nobles alive held a better reward than did bringing news of their deaths.

“At least she told the truth about all the dead people in this part of the ruins,” Jarlaxle reasoned.

Athrogate scratched his beard. “There's no trust lost fer me if treacherous she proves ta be.”

Jarlaxle readily shared that sentiment. He was more curious about possible events if it turned out she was telling the truth.

As if on cue, she returned, but naked again and her blanket filled with something that she carried with the utmost care. She placed it gently on the ground and unrolled it, urging the pair to come closer. “Don't step on any of these,” she warned when they were right in front of her. Looking down, Jarlaxle noticed a pile of black rocks of varying shapes and sizes. Athrogate frowned, but didn't comment. The woman picked up a small stone, placed it away from the others and stepped on it forcibly. To the pair's surprise, it turned to dust, but that wasn't all it did. Out from the stone played beautiful music, a few notes only, but it disappeared once over. Jarlaxle knew it for the _prestidigitation_ cantrip that it was, but he had never seen rocks able to cast them.

“These are chardalyns,” she explained. “They're able to absorb spells cast at them and are released when they're crushed. One stone can hold only one spell, and the bigger the stone, the more powerful the magic.”

“Useful as magical booby traps,” Jarlaxle concluded and brought out a magic-detecting wand to see if he could figure out which stones did what.

“They're very fragile, as you saw,” the woman went on. “I saw them on my way out of here and since I knew them for what they are, I knew to avoid stepping on them. I figured it wouldn't hurt to clean things up a bit on the way inside, though, and explain to you how they work so you don't accidentally or unintentionally set any of these off.”

Jarlaxle noticed several of the stones contained dangerous fireball and disintegration spells, and gave the woman an appreciative nod. “These can also be used against dangerous enemies,” he reasoned with a deeper level of meaning that Athrogate, judging from the dwarf's serious nod, picked up on.

“Hopefully we won't run into any,” the woman supplied, apparently having missed it. “However, I have only my blanket to store these in, and they have to be treated with great care. If I had some kind of jewellery box or something else with padding in it, then I could store them better.” Her eyes scanned the area and Jarlaxle noticed they glowed red like his and Athrogate's. Neither her pendant nor her key gave off any magical auras, but he was certain they possessed some powers all the same, or she got her darkvision from elsewhere. Resourceful.

“I doubt we'll find any that are still intact after so long,” Jarlaxle reasoned.

“Oh, I'm not looking for jewellery boxes,” she said and looked back at him. “I found a place to store these while we explore. Feel free to help yourselves to what you might need before I move these.” She indicated the pile with her hand.

The mercenary blinked. She might be crazy, but at least she brought presents. He was growing a little less certain that she was trying to lure them to their deaths, for what kind of predator armed their prey? Jarlaxle pocketed several stones, carefully, until he was satisfied. Athrogate eyed them with suspicion and declined the woman's offer. She wrapped the remaining ones up in her blanket and carried them over to a large metal box. It was far from the best hiding place, but to her credit she managed to fit it all in and left it looking the way it had before she'd used it.

Jarlaxle wasn't opposed to having her wander through the ruins with him naked, either. He was surprised a human female was so comfortable being completely bare around a pair of strangers, however, and remarked upon it.

“Oh, you're both grown up, I'm sure you've seen it all before,” she remarked off-handedly. To that Jarlaxle had no argument, nor the wish to make one. Athrogate merely shrugged. “I just do what's practical anyway.” She shrugged. “It's easier for me to move this way, and the blanket is better off where it is. Besides, I know where to find it should I need it.”

Her confidence was as suspicious as it was surprising. She'd fled from something dangerous, but now she was going back the same way completely naked. Sure, she had him and Athrogate by her side, and the drow knew she wasn't completely defenceless. They'd also made a deal to help her out of the desert in exchange for her assistance, but shouldn't she be at least a little bit concerned about her own safety?

Then again, saying anything that would encourage her to stay behind, armed to the teeth with chardalyns, wasn't an option, either. Jarlaxle followed, albeit reluctantly, noticing an equal level of suspicion in the dwarf. The drow kept a hand on his lightning bolt wand, just to be on the safe side. Athrogate's hands, the elf noticed, never strayed far from his morningstars.

The next room they stepped into still had a good number of chardalyns strewn about, but a wide path had been cleared as a result of the woman's cleaning. Jarlaxle studied these stones as well and picked up a few of them when she wasn't looking. He noticed her feet didn't fare all too well, though she did her best to hide it. Scrapes, a bit of blood and blisters showed on the soles. While she might be comfortable being naked, he reasoned that she might not be able to walk much farther, and that rendered her useless as a guide.

Average drow would have seen this as an opportunity to kill her and move on without her. Jarlaxle, however, wasn't the average drow, nor was he sure if she was crazy or telling the truth – or putting on a very convincing act – so he walked back, pulled off the enchanted boots on the dead wizard's feet, and gave them to her. Not only would she be able to travel better, but they'd keep her warm, too.

“Why, boots from a dead person, taken straight from the corpse,” she remarked with a good dose of amusement. “We're off to a good start.” Then she threw him a wink and thanked him, leaving Jarlaxle to wonder if she merely looked forward to their dungeon delving or if she was flirting with him.

Like with all enchanted clothing, the boots adapted to fit the wearer. Jarlaxle expected her to heal herself, but instead she got up and walked into the next room. He followed, with Athrogate in tow, but she didn't even slow down. The next room had a few more corpses, as well as some books and scrolls that the mercenary took the time to study. To his delight, they detailed not only a bit of Netherese history, but also the Waterdhavian scholars' own notes about them. This was worth more to his employers than magical items, and he stored them most carefully.

“It's pretty quiet on this level,” Jarlaxle remarked once he was done.

The woman nodded. “It's too dark for the vultures and other scavengers are probably below us.”

“Plenty to take from, I imagine,” the mercenary remarked.

Her eyes went down to her boots and then she shrugged. “They've got a bit of a head start on me.”

“I'm sure you'll catch up to them soon,” he said and returned her wink from before. She smiled. His faith in his charming personality was restored.

“If the last two rooms are still as I left them, then we should probably find little except more corpses,” she reasoned, “though there might be more information for you to gather. That's why you're here, correct? In regards to the people who were killed and what they may have discovered?”

She was observant. “That is indeed the case,” the mercenary said.

“Most of their data was stored two levels below,” she informed him.

“How many levels did ye go through ta get to the surface?” Athrogate cut in.

She paused, deep concentration and pensiveness dancing across her face so obviously that even the most dense kobold could read her expression. “I think I awoke on the fourth, if I remember correctly. There was a large nest of poisonous snakes down there.”

“Anything else you remember about _this_ level?” Jarlaxle pressed.

“Two more rooms before a steep, partially broken flight of stone stairs,” she recounted. “More corpses, probably, and dark enough that we might run into some scavengers.”

“Dark enough that a certain assailant might show up again?” Jarlaxle suggested more than asked, but Athrogate was already moving into the next chamber. The pair followed, but the woman stopped after only a few steps, her face scrunched up in disgust and a hand covering her nose and mouth. Athrogate's whistling told Jarlaxle he was in the middle of killing something. He chanced a peek inside.

A large, crawling, worm-like creature with multiple legs and eight writhing tentacles that protruded from below its tooth-filled maw advanced on the dwarf with a snarl. Jarlaxle recognised it as a carrion crawler, and noticed another lay dead next to it, the handiwork of Athrogate's morningstars showing in the creature's head and lifeless body. The dwarf laughed as he swatted away tentacle after tentacle, the sticky, paralysing substance that dripped from them having no effect.

One morningstar bore down on the monster's head and connected hard. Predictably, the creature sagged and dropped to the ground, the body collapsing with it, and landed partially on top of the other one. Athrogate smashed its head in a second time – for good measure, the drow guessed – and after making sure no more creatures like it remained, set to wiping his weapons clean on some unfortunate expedition member's cloak.

Jarlaxle returned to the woman's side and informed her that the horrid beasts were dead.

“That's not it,” she said, her hand still covering her nose and mouth. “It's the stench! Don't you smell that?”

He shrugged. “My people come across these creatures sometimes. I suppose I've grown used to it.”

Her eyes began to water and she had to step away from the door. Eventually, though, she walked inside, her hand removed from her nose and mouth, but her eyes were still wet.

More information could indeed be found there, including journals, diaries and ancient but well-preserved spellbooks. He offered a few of them to the woman, but she declined, saying she didn't learn spells that way.

“A sorceress!” he remarked. She nodded, though she seemed neither proud nor ashamed, which were the standard reactions of most who possessed innate magic after being subjected to the jealousy of wizards. Her reaction was more akin to quiet acceptance. “Was sorcery commonplace in Netheril?”

She shook her head. “It's so rare that when a child is born with it, the family is considered favoured by Mystryl.”

“Is?” He raised a snow white eyebrow. He also took note of her usage of Mystra's ancient name.

“I suppose that should be 'was',” she corrected herself and looked none too happy in so doing. To her credit, she managed to keep a straight face and her focus on the present.

The next room contained a few spiders that scattered upon their arrival, as well as some pottery and other things that were of more interest to archaeologists than the trio.

As the human had said, the stairs were indeed partially ruined. “We should be able to climb down the way I came,” she said and took the lead, walking down into the dark depths, but carefully, no doubt in case of fragile steps. “I managed to reach the stairs thanks to it connecting to a large pile of boulders.”

Jarlaxle was behind her every step of the way. At one point the stairs crumbled beneath her feet. He grabbed her and pulled her back with him, tossing her further back before moving to follow, only narrowly escaping a fall himself.

Everything had happened so fast that the woman didn't have time to react, but she panted hard and stared on ahead with a mix of shock and terror at the pit that separated the broken stairs from the pile she'd told them about. Too great a distance to jump. She did find time to thank Jarlaxle for his quick actions, to which he tipped his hat in response. It was impossible to see what lay in the darkness beneath them, though, even to the drow's superior eyesight.

Athrogate gave Jarlaxle a questioning look. “Do we try the drow kite again?” The woman looked puzzled, not knowing the reference.

Jarlaxle hid his amusement. Back in Damara, when the company he'd been in had encountered a similar transportation issue, they'd tossed ropes over to the other side and had most of them climb across. Jarlaxle, on the other hand, had tied a rope around his waist and let Athrogate pull him across while activating his levitation magic, resulting in what the dwarf had delightedly called a “drow kite”.

The mercenary gauged the distance between the stairs and the boulders and reasoned that it was about the same distance. “If we can find a spot to secure the grappling hooks.”

“I have another idea,” the woman cut in and set to work on casting a spell. Athrogate tensed up, and Jarlaxle watched on with his hand ready to toss out a dagger should the spell prove harmful. Silvery white strands of magic flowed out of her hands, like ethereal threads of moonlight, seemingly dancing as they took on a specific, physical shape.

As she weaved the threads with a skill that even a matron mother would admire, railless stairs began to form, starting at their spot and manifesting further in the direction of the boulders. It was beautiful magic to behold, and Jarlaxle admired beauty wherever he found it, but he also noticed the positive effect that spellcasting had on the human. Her demeanour was calm and her bearing graceful, as if this was a dance that she had mastered a long time ago. She was clearly in her element.

Athrogate let out a disappointed grunt when the stairs were done, while Jarlaxle was curious about a few things. She walked down to the boulders and he and his dwarven companion followed, but he asked her his questions all the same. “How far can such a bridge bring you?”

“About two-hundred and sixty feet, at most,” she replied.

“Pray tell, why didn't you use it to give yourself a boost out of the desert?” was his next question.

“I wasn't sure where I was,” came the explanation, “let alone where to go.”

She'd taken quite the chance by stepping out into the desert, he concluded. That wasn't something he ordinarily associated with the insane.

“It was my last _moon path_ for the day, too,” she informed him as she reached the end of the stairs and stepped on to the boulders. “It will last for only sixteen minutes, so we'll probably have to find another way out once you're done with this place. Unless I manage to get some rest and replenish my spells while we're down here.”

Jarlaxle stopped to admire her handiwork. “It's a beautiful spell, both the process of its casting and the end result. I don't think I've seen anything quite like it before.”

“It's woven of pure moonlight,” she explained. “Usually, among my fellow humans, only clerics of Selûne or Malar can cast it, that I know of.”

He turned around to look at her. “Do you follow any of those deities?”

“No,” she said flatly before moving on. The mercenary stared after her curiously, but no further explanation was forthcoming. He looked to Athrogate who could only shrug.

Jarlaxle decided to change the subject. “Anything down here we should be aware of?”

“It was mostly rubble when I went up,” she explained. “I doubt that's changed.” Her stomach growled in hunger and she paused.

The mercenary had wondered how long that would take. Judging from how she swayed where she stood, he guessed she was probably starving and dizzy. He walked up to her and offered her his arm as support as he led her down to a fairly cleared stone floor. After he and Athrogate examined the area, they concluded it was a good a place as any to set up camp. “Scavengers won't find mere rubble interesting, although we can stay for a quick snack only.”

The woman rubbed her hands together. “Do you have any cooking tools that I can use?”

“I can do even better,” the dark elf replied and placed out a tablecloth on a nearby boulder. He'd used it once before, but since halflings could out-eat even a full company of dwarves, he brought out a different wand. This one was designed to create a smaller meal and he pointed it at the cloth and uttered a command word. Just like in Damara, with the halflings, it bulged, and he pulled back the edge to reveal a fairly sized meal of fruits, vegetables, bread and cooked eggs. He then brought out a bottle of fresh water as well as some cups and eating utensils.

“ _Heroes' feast_ ,” the woman remarked. At this point, Jarlaxle wasn't surprised that she knew the name of the spell. “Altered for a smaller group. Impressive work. Many a wizard can create a new spell, but altering it for different situations isn't something they ordinarily think to do.”

She seemed less insane the more she spoke, and her appreciation for creativity was something he could come to like. He indicated the small feast with his hand. “Please, do help yourself.”

She accepted the utensils he offered her, as well as the cup, and dug into the food heartily. Every bite seemed like a taste of heaven to her, and she greatly savoured the taste of Jarlaxle's water. It didn't take long for the meal to be finished, and all three were full by the end.

“Ye've got yerself a taste fer food, lass,” Athrogate remarked. “Let's hope ye don't mind giving off gas.” Then he grinned.

Jarlaxle grimaced. The woman sent him an odd look. “What?” she asked. “You can handle the stench of carrion crawlers, but not farts?”

Athrogate roared with laughter, his merriment increasing upon seeing the disgusted look on the elf's face. In the end the dwarf ended up rolling around on the ground, sending a group of scorpions running, which only had him laugh all the harder.

In truth, Jarlaxle wasn't sure whether to continue to find Athrogate's words gross or to appreciate the witty response the woman had just made. It was true, the stench of carrion crawlers was worse than someone breaking wind, but the noise was what really bothered him.

“It doesn't grate on my nerves, but the sound is a little... unsettling,” he explained. Of all the things he'd find himself discussing in a Netherese ruin, he'd never expected this topic to be one of them.

“How do you deal with your own, then?” she asked.

“Quietly,” he responded dryly. The woman joined Athrogate in laughing. Jarlaxle didn't like being at the receiving end of a joke, but at the same time he could appreciate the humour. Not to mention the woman's laughter was contagious. While he didn't laugh, he did end up smiling.

The hissing sound of snakes caught his attention and he looked around to see if he could locate them. Had they moved up from the fourth level, or had the human lied to him? She was quiet, he noticed, and looked as confused as he felt, though with a hint of fear in her eyes. Before he could ask, she cast a spell on herself, and so quickly he didn't catch the entire chant. He recognised the basics of the spell, however, and thus allowed her to cast it on him as well. Athrogate was already up and about, morningstars in hand. He burped before he let out a battle cry and rushed into the darkness ahead, following the sound of the hiss. Jarlaxle got up as well, followed by the woman, but before they could set out after the dwarf, a lone figure stepped out before them, a hideous woman more naked than Jarlaxle's human companion and with snakes for hair.

A medusa stood before them.


	3. Hail to the princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting medusae can easily turn into a nightmare for those not protected from petrification. Fortunately, Athrogate has a simple solution in mind.

Before a single word could be spoken, the medusa's eyes flashed with the bright light that turned people into statues. Thanks to the woman's spell, the pair remained unaffected. Rage came to the snake-woman's face when she realised this, and the drow expected her to flee, as was typical of her kind when their initial attack failed. Instead she started muttering some words and raised a hand at him – was she casting a spell?

The mercenary's hand pumped, tossing out dagger after dagger from his glove at the creature, but the real ones bounced off of her skin – a _stoneskin_ spell, he reasoned – and the illusionary ones went right through her. A wand was out in his hand next, and he pointed it at the creature. Her words became muted as the _silence_ spell took effect, successfully disrupting her casting and causing her anger to magnify.

More hissing could be heard from behind and above his companion. Jarlaxle reacted quickly and pulled the human into his arms, activating a power in a ring and surrounding them both with an invisible shield that rendered them immune to missiles. Medusae were quite fond of their archery, as was proven when several arrows bounced off the shield harmlessly.

Snakes bit into his arm, but he was protected from their poison. Jarlaxle looked back to see the spellcasting medusa from before, her serpentine hair latched well onto him. More arrows struck against his shield. He grimaced – he couldn't fight on two fronts like this and protect his guide at the same time.

As if she'd read his mind, the woman pointed a finger at the closest snake-woman and uttered a single word. A fiery ray flew from her finger and struck the medusa in the hair. Jarlaxle was freed from it – apparently the monster hadn't prepared for the near-naked woman to have some magic as well, let alone that she would fight back. Two more rays followed the first, striking true and setting the whole medusa on fire. Three such rays in rapid succession was a mark of an above-average mage in terms of power. The mercenary couldn't help but grin.

Flames licked away at the monster, her screams muffled from Jarlaxle's spell. Her snake-hair disintegrated from the magical fire and her skin burned away from her face and body. The stench of burnt flesh hit the pair, but they didn't even have time to watch the medusa perish. More arrows flew at them now, and Jarlaxle's shield was getting close to collapsing. He ran over to a large pile of boulders, his hand on the woman's wrist as he dragged her along. They collapsed behind the outcropping, hidden from view just as the magical shield dissipated.

Jarlaxle considered his options. The woman was naked apart from a pair of boots, and while he had a full arsenal to employ against the medusae, he hadn't quite determined the when and where to put it to use yet. He could summon his diatryma – a large, flightless bird native to the Underdark - from the feather in his hat, but it wasn't protected from petrification and would, at best, serve as a temporary distraction. Athrogate's whereabouts were unknown to him as well, and he worried his friend had rushed off to a petrified end.

“I see you have darkvision, too,” the woman remarked. “Since you're an elf, you can see farther than me in this darkness, correct?”

He nodded. “What of it?”

“Are you able to spot the medusae and see if they're fully hidden from view?” she continued.

“I should be,” he replied, curious as to what she had planned.

“Are you also able to summon a shield similar to the one before?” came the next question.

He nodded, catching on.

Her voice dropped to a low murmur. “You will need a decoy. I'll lure them out. Then you can inform me of their positions.” He frowned, but she would have none of that. “It will give them the impression that you're out of magical shields.”

“You have a necklace, a key and a pair of boots on you only,” he argued.

“I appear less threatening that way,” she countered, “apart from a fiery ray, which has a limited range. The medusae are more likely to focus their efforts on you than on me.” She grabbed her key and closed her eyes. It glowed with a dull, silvery light, and soon that same, discreet glow covered her entire form. The effect lasted several long seconds before the glow was absorbed into her. A few more seconds later and she opened her eyes.

“What did that do?” he asked, curious.

She opened her hand, revealing a pile of silver dust where her key had been. “It helped me recover some of my spells, but it was destroyed in the process of doing so.” Quiet acceptance came to her face, but was quickly replaced with surprise and then she looked at him. “My name is Felicia.” Her expression suggested this information was as new to her as it was to him. Using that key had sparked a part of her memory? Jarlaxle activated his dweomer from before and noticed that she indeed had more spells at her disposal than before. It did nothing to either confirm or deny her alleged amnesia, but at least he had a name to call her by.

Before their discussion about how to best take out the snake-women could continue, however, an unnatural, deep whine echoed through the layer, followed up by Athrogate's laughter. Hellish flames burst out among various stone cracks, following in the path of what Jarlaxle knew was a fiendish boar, and going in the direction of the medusa archers. Screams sounded shortly after, dying screams, but they came from neither Snort nor his rider. To say the drow felt relieved was an understatement, and it wasn't only on his own behalf.

The fires didn't spread much as there wasn't a lot of material around to burn, but they caused a great deal of damage to the monsters, judging from the sounds. One burning lump of medusa flew from the high ledge and headed straight towards an unsuspecting Felicia. Jarlaxle grabbed her before she could protest and pulled her to him until she sat between his legs, her head resting against his chest, the fiery projectile missing her by a hair. He'd have to find a way to thank the dwarf for that opportunity.

“How is your friend able to avoid petrification without a spell cast on him?” she wondered. “Does he wear a ring or amulet that protects him?”

“Not to my knowledge,” the mercenary remarked. “My best guess is that it has to do with his field of vision.”

She looked confused, but as he'd come to expect, it didn't take long for her to catch on. A grin grew on her lips, a reaction that he readily shared. Soon enough she started trembling with silent laughter, relaxing against him even more. He didn't mind.

Around the corner came a medusa, however, her snake hair greeting them as she looked behind her, not having spotted the pair yet. No doubt she was fleeing the dwarven destroyer. One arm, Jarlaxle noticed, hung limply to the side, blood running from a wound. A dagger was in her other hand. When she turned around and spotted them, her eyes flashed, but like with the other medusa, it had no effect. Despair came to her face next and she moved to leave only to come face to helmet with Athrogate astride his hell-boar. The dwarf, Jarlaxle noticed, was indeed keeping his field of vision to below the snake-woman's face. Snort, naturally, had no choice in the matter.

“Stop!” the drow called out, and Athrogate lowered his morningstars. Jarlaxle got up, urged Felicia to cast her protective spell against petrification on the dwarf, and made sure to keep his lightning bolt wand pointed at the medusa. “I'd like to interrogate this one.” The monster shuddered and the dagger fell from her hand. A wail of despair sounded from her next – no doubt the medusa knew well what drow interrogation meant. The sound of it also gave Felicia pause, he noticed. Like with everything else so far, she caught on quickly, and judging from the look on her face, she wasn't happy with her discovery. Her eyes inadvertently went to him. Jarlaxle flashed her his most reassuring smile. “It will be over quickly, have no fear.”

Apparently she understood perfectly well what that meant, because she stood still, her eyes narrowing. “A dagger's thrust to the heart is more merciful.”

“Dark elves have no mercy,” the medusa said with her hissing voice, though she, too, remained in place. Felicia's disapproval couldn't be more obvious. Jarlaxle bit back a sigh.

“Are you not curious as to why they attacked us, especially since you didn't see them on your way out?” he asked, briefly wondering if Felicia was trying to prevent him from learning something she didn't want him to learn. Perhaps she was in league with these monsters?

“That doesn't mean I wish to torture her,” she countered. So she _was_ curious. The mercenary discounted the idea of her being friends with the medusae.

“If you have another idea, then by all means, employ it,” he urged her, but some of his sarcasm slipped through, which she also caught on to. Instead of getting angry, however, she looked away in a manner that suggested he was nothing more than a maggot and then turned to face the medusa directly. Jarlaxle was caught between wanting to retaliate for that look and appreciating such fire.

The mercenary thought she might try a diplomatic approach, or even attempt to be friendly with the monster, but she did neither. Instead she clasped her necklace and muttered the words of a prayer as she circled the medusa. A _prayer_ , and one he could sense the power in! Jarlaxle listened intently, but she chanted in a language that hadn't been translated for him by his orb. He sought to activate it, but by the time he did, the chant was already over.

“Ask your questions,” Felicia said to him and indicated the snake-woman. “She can't lie to you.”

A very basic _zone of truth_ spell. Jarlaxle knew such a spell had its weaknesses, and found himself disappointed. To Felicia's credit, she cast her protective spell on Athrogate next. That was one person she was still on good terms with, at least.

“Why did you attack us?” Jarlaxle went for the simple, straightforward start.

At first the medusa didn't answer. Predictable. He pondered ways to get answers out of her, but then the monster's face twisted in a most peculiar way before her mouth opened. “We thought you a threat to us, our goddess and our princess.” The look of disbelief on her face indicated that she hadn't meant to tell him that. Jarlaxle sent Felicia a look of incredulity.

The woman shrugged. “A Netherese speciality. _Zone of truth_ has too many weaknesses, and torture is unreliable. We used this spell during trials whenever there was doubt that the people involved were truthful.”

“I'm humbled,” he confessed before turning his attention back to the snake-woman. Not that torture couldn't be used in conjunction with _zone of truth_ , of course, but this method worked just fine, and wasn't as messy.

“Where were you when I was on my way out of here?” Felicia asked before the mercenary could pose his next question. This one the medusa didn't struggle against responding to.

“We didn't wish to share the fate of the archaeologists,” she explained. “The Shade hunting you would have killed us as well, for our devotion.” Shade, not half-drow. That didn't necessarily make things easier.

“Devotion to whom?” Felicia and Jarlaxle chorused. They exchanged looks.

The medusa took on a look of religious fervour. “Lilith, our goddess. She's the queen of succubi, worked with the great Karsus and is the saviour and protector of his creations. The Shades hate her for that.”

“What's a Shade?” Felicia asked next, in concert with Athrogate.

“Masters of darkness and shadow,” the snake-woman explained and looked to Jarlaxle, “even more so than his people.” Her eyes went back to the woman. “They undergo a ritual to become what they are. All of them were once human.”

“Any specific kind of human?” the mercenary cut in, though he already knew the answer. He wished to see Felicia's reaction to it, however.

“Netherese,” came the predictable reply. Felicia's eyes widened. Jarlaxle rocked back on his feet, remembering the Shade that he and Entreri had encountered. The mercenary had known what a Shade was from a rather brief but unfortunate venture into the Plane of Shadow in his younger years. Back in Heliogabalus, the Shade that he and the assassin had met had confessed to being Netherese, but even Jarlaxle had learned something from the medusa.

“If he was Netherese, why would he want me dead?” Felicia pressed.

The monster tried resisting the effects of the spell, but her efforts ultimately failed. “I don't think he wanted you dead. We suspect he meant to capture you.”

“Why?” Jarlaxle, Athrogate and Felicia all asked at once.

A tear ran down the medusa's cheek as she attempted to resist the spell yet again, and once more failed to do so. “Because you're one of Karsus' creations.” She burst into tears.

The drow's head snapped in Felicia's direction. Gone was any doubt about her being insane, or lying to him, and she had become even more interesting than before. Unless the medusa had been fed misinformation, which was unlikely to have come from Felicia, judging from her entire reaction pattern during the interrogation. He was curious about the snake-woman's goddess, too. He'd never heard of a succubus powerful enough to be worshipped, although lore from Arach-Tinilith – the school of clerics in drow society – did tell of one named Lilith, who refused to give up her home to Lolth after the Spider Queen was tossed into the Abyss by Corellon Larethian, the chief god of the surface elves. Naturally, Lolth had taken the place by force and turned it into the Demonweb Pits, but the fate of the demon who had resisted her remained unknown.

Jarlaxle easily guessed that “creation” meant Felicia was in some way related to Karsus – his grand-daughter or niece, perhaps? Would that make her the princess the medusa talked about earlier? Several archwizards of Netheril also held the titles of prince or king, after all, and Karsus had ruled over his own city. Or, by “creation”, had the archwizard made plans for Felicia that had put her under his rule? An experiment of sorts? The mercenary was practically bursting at the seams wanting to know more.

“How am I his creation?” Felicia asked for him after casting a _calm emotions_ spell on the snake-woman to stem the flood of tears.

“You're one of his daughters,” the medusa explained. “He had many children in his time, but eight daughters were bred for a specific purpose.”

The mercenary struggled to contain his excitement. To his surprise, Felicia's next question wasn't what he'd expected. “What about my mother? Who was she?” Apparently her priorities were more familial.

“A princess of Opus,” the monster continued. “They were more accepting of... mixing than other Netherese. She was part star elf.” The mercenary blinked. Star elves were to his people what fairy tales were to human children. He'd always held a bit of personal fascination with them.

Felicia leaned back, seemingly content with the information provided. Jarlaxle wasn't. “For what purpose did Karsus breed forth these women?”

“To destroy the phaerimm,” the medusa replied.

He'd failed, obviously. Otherwise he wouldn't have cast the spell that killed him and Mystra and brought the empire down. That was his reason for his lofty ambition, after all – to disconnect the phaerimm from the Weave and save his people from their destructive influence, after which he'd annihilate the aberrations. Jarlaxle had done his homework before setting out.

None of this made Felicia any less interesting, of course, and having found a survivor from before the fall, a princess _and_ the daughter of Karsus, at that, was just as valuable as recovering an entire library of fully intact tomes of Netherese history, if not more so. No matter how he looked at the situation, he and Athrogate had won a big prize. He briefly wondered if there was even a point in trying to uncover more, but then he reminded himself that they had two more levels to search and many questions still unanswered.

“What dangers await us below?” he asked. Though, if the medusae had been hiding all this time, then it was unlikely that she knew.

“Not much of note,” was the answer. “Mostly scavengers.” Her face twisted in a funny way. “The Shade is still down there, and we suspect he's summoned more of his kind. It's possible they keep someone trapped, but I don't know what or who.” A short silence followed and then her expression matched the one from before. “There's a fifth level, too, inhabited by beholders.”

That made things more dangerous, but also more interesting. Beholders enjoyed hoarding magical treasure, and they guarded it jealously. If there were any Netherese secrets to be found, they were undoubtedly on the fifth level.

Such a place would be too dangerous for Felicia to venture into. She could act as a guide to the fourth level, but from that point on, he and Athrogate would have to continue on their own. He didn't like that idea, but Felicia had become too valuable for him to risk her life on a quest to acquire treasure. Perhaps they should search the third and fourth level, go back to the surface, bring her to a safe haven and then go back? It was a long detour, and there was no knowing what would become of this place in the meantime. Not to mention the medusae might attack them again. They might leave Felicia alone, as per the wishes of their “goddess”, maybe even extend this to her travelling companions, but without the Netherese woman, Jarlaxle and Athrogate were open to attacks from them once more.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he needed the princess.

“Since your goddess is occupied with protecting Felicia, among what and who else Karsus left behind,” he began, drawing the attention of both women, “I would think that, as her faithful followers, it would be in your best interests to clothe the daughter of Karsus and grant her what magical items you have, so she can better survive down here.”

The medusa blinked, and then burst out laughing. All three humanoids sent her the same odd look. “Yes, clothe her we shall, and we will leave you alone, unless you harm her.” She sent the dark elf a look that promised him much pain and suffering. He'd seen worse. “Some magical trinkets she may have as well, but take her to the fifth level, drow, and you will soon find yourself a pauper compared to what Karsus stashed away for her.”

“As long as the princess is willing to share some of that treasure with me, I will not object,” he shot back with a greedy grin.

“Princess of the ruins,” Felicia remarked dryly.

The medusa scoffed at the mercenary. “Leave it to one of your kind to think only of the monetary reward.”

Jarlaxle opened his mouth to retaliate, but Felicia cut him short. “I don't mind. He has no personal motivation for helping me, and has already gone far and beyond the basic agreements I made with him. If I truly have a stash of things on the fifth level, then I'll be happy to share some of it with both Jarlaxle and Athrogate as payment for their assistance.”

“Your generosity is much appreciated, Your Highness,” Jarlaxle said and bowed deeply. Already he was forgiving her for the hateful look earlier. “However, as you heard, that place is overrun with beholders. I'm not sure how we can overcome that, even with assistance from the medusae.”

“We have the golden key,” the medusa cut in and faced Felicia. “It will help you find your way, Your Highness, past even the eye tyrants. I will ask the high priestess to give it to you. That is, if I'm permitted to leave?” Her gaze went from Jarlaxle to Felicia.

“Your call, princess,” the mercenary said.

“You may go,” Felicia said to the snake-woman. A disappointed grunt sounded from Athrogate and he stepped off his hellish boar, the beast disappearing in a puff of smoke. The medusa picked up her dagger and left, making sure to go the long way around Jarlaxle.

“Is Lilith your patron goddess, Felicia?” the elf asked once the monstrous woman was gone.

“No,” Felicia said in full honesty, and that was all she said about the matter. Peculiar. Most clerics were happy to talk about their deities. Was the church Felicia belonged to for those with a special interest only?

While they waited, the mercenary noticed something in the hand of the spellcasting medusa that he and Felicia had killed. It sparkled gold, and he got up before he could stop himself. Athrogate watched on, Felicia having left for a spot where she could, as she had announced, relieve herself. The dwarf had laughed heartily at the elf's reaction to that admission.

Jarlaxle moved the dead medusa's hand over and noticed a golden key in her hand. It was the same size as the one that Felicia had worn. Feeling curiosity overtake him, he snatched it out of her hand and pocketed it. He then returned to his previous spot, just in time for their human companion to return.

The medusa – whose name was Seec'ell, they learned – returned not long after the princess, accompanied by a small group of medusae carrying clothes, a bowl of hot water and various other items. Felicia met the high priestess of Lilith, who was the tallest and most imposing among the beasts. The princess didn't even bat an eyelash upon her frightening appearance, instead greeting her with grace and elegance worthy of her elven heritage, a stark contrast to her otherwise blunt, human manner. Jarlaxle and Athrogate could only watch the exchange take place, so unusual yet looking perfectly normal.

Felicia was washed, clothed and pampered as only a princess could be. The outfit consisted of bindings for her breasts, a simple shirt, leather gloves and breeches, as well as a belt to keep everything in place. She was given a pair of precious wands to hold on to, as well as a pair of enchanted rings. The medusae told her they'd lost the golden key and that she'd have to search for it, and then they bid her farewell, carrying their dead back with them. They barely even acknowledged the elf and dwarf. Just as well – the mercenary didn't want to become friendly with such monsters.

The princess looked endlessly pleased, however. “Well, it seems I'm more appropriately dressed for the occasion of dungeon delving. Shall we continue our adventure?”

Athrogate got up on his feet. “Ye never need ask, lass!” Jarlaxle followed. Seemingly pleased, Felicia led the way into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever noticed in the short story, "That Curious Sword", how Jarlaxle automatically knows what a Shade is? This is pretty unbelievable considering that the ritual to create them originated on the Plane of Shadow, the Shadovar themselves hadn't set foot in Faerûn for over 1,700 years and they don't actually show up until 1372 DR. Notable (and only confirmed) exception is Melegaunt Tanthul, who at that point lurked behind the Sharn Wall to study the phaerimm, and certainly had no contact with the mercenary. Not even Mystra's Chosen knew what Shades were, and Salvatore never embellished on how Jarlaxle came by such obscure knowledge.
> 
> I fixed it with one sentence. You're welcome, Bob.


	4. Dislocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being out of the desert does not necessarily guarantee being free of sand. Ruins are full of their own traps and pitfalls, and while Jarlaxle is usually prepared for smaller groups of critters, even he can be caught by surprise. Good thing he has a dwarf.

The world of darkness receded in favour of a soft bed and white curtains that hid the waking world from her gaze. She looked around, noticing obscure symbols on the red bedding that lay on top of her. They'd been stitched into the fabric with golden thread. Sitting up, she noticed she was wearing a silk shirt with a more pale version of the red, matched with a green colour that reminded her of mint. Her body didn't feel stiff or sore, nor did she have any wounds, but her head hurt. She tried to remember where she was, but all that did was make her head spin. Crashing back down on the bed, the world became a whirlpool of colours until it finally settled down once more. When she got up this time her head hurt a little less.

Tapestries on the walls, adorned with handsome embroidery of rivers, forests and people, was the sight that met her when she pulled the curtains aside. A pair of soft red and mint green slippers stood by the bed and she put them on before examining the room closer.

She was certain this wasn't her bedroom, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what the real one was supposed to look like. Her eyes took in the full sight of the bed, noticing a dark, pyramid-shaped roof that was adorned with golden dragons. The beasts drew her in, and she ended up staring at the artistry, her attention and breath both stolen away. There was something eerily familiar about it all, yet she couldn't place it.

The door swung open and she spun around, her heart in her throat. In stepped a beautiful woman with golden eyes, dark hair and pale skin, a long, flowing dress adorning her body and expensive jewellery jingling with her every move. They exchanged curious looks, the dark one being the first to speak.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she said and bowed deeply. “It's pleasing to us that you have awoken. For a while we feared you wouldn't.”

“Highness?” The woman was confused. She couldn't remember being related to royalty.

“You're one of the eight princesses of Eileanar and a princess of Opus,” the golden-eyed woman informed her, which did nothing to dispel her confusion. “It will take a while for you to get used to the truth, Your Highness. You only just arrived.”

“Arrived from where?” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“A place you're better off forgetting,” the woman replied. “A pleasant lie, nothing more. You live for the truth, and the truth is what you now face.”

“I know what Eileanar and Opus are,” she began. “Flying cities of a magical empire named Netheril, correct?”

“Indeed,” came the response. “Your father and I made sure to grant you much knowledge upon your arrival.”

Her eyes narrowed as she faced the woman once more. “Did you also erase my memories?”

There was a moment's silence. “Yes. Your father thought it would be for the best. Though we didn't erase all of it. What do you remember?”

She scoured her mind, expecting another headache, but instead images flitted before her eyes. “I was a librarian... I practised witchcraft. I had friends.”

“Sisters,” the stranger corrected. “All by the same father. They're here, too, along with their offspring.”

“I had family too?”

“Not by blood,” said the woman dismissively. “Unimportant, not worth remembering.”

She didn't agree. In fact, that very piece of information made her feel as if she'd lost a very big part of herself, never to be recovered. Anger bubbled up inside, mixing with her confusion and need for clarification. “Just how badly did you mess with my mind?”

“We didn't mess with it, we merely erased what wasn't needed,” the stranger said, looking offended. “It would spare you much trauma.”

The anger from before flared up, but she wasn't the type to throw things or scream. Instead she shot the stranger a cold look. “Then I look forward to returning the favour one day.”

In response, the stranger's eyes grew wide and she straightened, but she didn't leave. “You have your father's fire, but your mother's ability to keep it in check, Your Highness.”

“Do I have a name as well?” she countered dryly.

“Of course.” The stranger smiled a coldly beautiful smile. “Princess Felicia.”

 

* * *

 

With or without clothing, Felicia's physique was something Jarlaxle had come to appreciate. Not only was she quiet when she moved, but she proved to have good hearing and eyesight as well, more so than the average human. Still nothing like a full-blooded elf, of course, but the mercenary wasn't one to judge another's capabilities by standards that didn't fit them. Her use of facial expressions for communication and the way she signalled with her hands was much appreciated, for as it turned out, the third level was inhabited by a rather loud and vocal group of kobolds.

Kobolds were small creatures, about the same size as gnomes or halflings, with scaly hide, naked tails and canine-like heads. They claimed some kind of dragon ancestry, but no-one would assume that simply from looking at them. Kobolds weren't a threat except in large numbers, but seeing as the levels below hosted both Shades and beholders, neither Jarlaxle nor Felicia wanted to alert them to their presence. If they attacked the kobolds, chances were high the noise would give them away.

Athrogate made it very clear with his signalling that he wanted to go in for the attack. Jarlaxle sent him a disapproving look, but it did nothing to deter the dwarf. Instead he indicated the leather bag that hung on the drow's belt. He could easily guess that Athrogate wanted him to use his wand to drop a spell of _silence_ on the kobolds, but the elf didn't like the idea of spending the charges on his magical items without good reason.

Felicia drew their attention by touching Jarlaxle on the shoulder. She indicated they stay where they were, and wait. The mercenary was confused, but all she gave him was an impish smile before she sneaked off, hiding behind debris until not even the drow could see her. His stomach tied into a knot, because he still didn't fully believe her story, even if he'd accepted that she wasn't insane or trying to kill him. Not to mention he preferred to lead.

The kobolds chatted for a good five minutes more, until suddenly, Jarlaxle could no longer hear them speak. Their serpentine eyes darted around in fear, but none of them seemed able to guess where the one who had silenced them was. The mercenary had a pretty good idea, though.

Athrogate wasted no time sneaking up on them until he was in position. He then jumped them, morningstars leading, his battle roar just as muffled as the voices of the small reptiles he attacked. One morningstar connected with a kobold's head, burying itself deep in its skull and sending the creature sprawling to the floor. Another struck his comrade in the chin, which sent him down, belly-up, and his neck twisted to the side. Athrogate was already on the third before the others even noticed he was there. Predictably, full-fledged panic broke out among them.

Jarlaxle stepped out from his hiding place next, tossing daggers at the creatures. One kobold was hit in the throat, another in the chest and a third in the eye. A fourth kobold tried to flee, but the mercenary took him down with a dagger in the back. That left three more, all of whom turned around to flee. Athrogate tripped one with his morningstar and Jarlaxle hit the other in the throat, but the third was about to make it to the door and leave the silenced area behind. Jarlaxle procured another dagger ready for the throw, but even as he tossed it, he knew it wouldn't kill the creature. As if on cue, a lithe, female figure stepped out before the kobold and blocked his passage. The creature skittered to a halt, and the mercenary's dagger sunk into his head. All the kobolds went down quietly.

It had been a risk for Felicia to take, considering she wasn't armed with any weapons apart from the two wands, but her quick thinking had helped them overcome the little monsters. The dwarf smashed in the skull of the one he'd tripped, and the drow's infravision informed him that the others were dead as well, the red colour of their body heat diminishing. Jarlaxle kissed Felicia's hand as show of appreciation for her assistance. Athrogate grinned from ear to ear as he went about checking the corpses for treasure.

A few human corpses could be found in the next room, but they'd been thoroughly looted, no doubt by more kobolds. The dwarf found a path through a pair of overturned boulders that leaned against each other, the opening so small that only someone who was the size of a halfling could pass through. No doubt it led to the kobolds' lair and even more of their kind, but also the loot they'd picked up. Not wanting to miss out on anything potentially rewarding, he gave Athrogate a quiet nod.

The dwarf grabbed his enchanted belt and tightened it by a few notches. As a result, the muscles in his arms bulged and grew. Jarlaxle moved to lean against one boulder while his companion pushed the other aside. The boulder was heavier than the drow had expected, but Felicia joined him, putting in an impressive amount of muscle for a mage and easing the burden for the mercenary.

Athrogate's new strength allowed him to place his boulder down gently and quietly. He then moved over to where Jarlaxle stood and gave Felicia a surprised look and a nod of approval before taking to the task of lowering the second one. She smiled with delight.

Loosening his belt, for as he'd told the elf on several occasions, he had no need for magical strength against critters, the dwarf led the way through the tunnels. Ordinarily Jarlaxle would take the lead, but as a dwarf, the warrior had an understanding of the stone around him that the drow lacked. While the elf's hearing was the keenest, sounds had a tendency to travel, bounce off the stone and seemingly come from all sides. Athrogate, the mercenary had found, had an uncanny ability to locate enemies or monsters underground, no matter where they were. When asked about it, he'd merely shrugged and said “I can tell by the stone”. The mercenary remained mystified, but accepted it all the same.

They were halfway down the tunnel when they heard a rumbling sound from behind them. The entire tunnel shook violently, and Felicia crashed against the rock wall. She would have fallen over if she hadn't grabbed a hold of that wall to steady herself. Jarlaxle looked behind her to see debris falling down through the roof, accompanied by a bit of sand. The level shook some more, but then it calmed down. Silence followed and lasted for a whole split second until more rumbling sounded, this time accompanied by the sizzling sound of sand, and lots of it, judging from how the noise didn't cease.

Jarlaxle grabbed Felicia by the arm and pushed her into a run, the dwarf already having taken up the lead. The drow followed as quickly as possible, the sizzling turning into a deep rumble as a wave of sand came crashing through the tunnel. All three ran as fast as their legs could carry them, but the sand was quicker. Jarlaxle could always levitate, and he might be able to save Felicia in doing so, but the roof hung too low for them to be successful.

Survival required quick thinking, and the best he could do was to pick out a rather unique wand that he'd bought in Waterdeep. He aimed it first at Athrogate. An air bubble formed around the dwarf's head. He then pointed it at Felicia, creating the same result. Before he could activate it on himself, however, the sand caught up to him, enveloped him and knocked the wand out of his hand. A gloved hand caught it, however, and the last thing he saw was Felicia pointing it at him and repeating the command word he'd used. The sand pushed him up against her and she grabbed a hold with her free hand. He was pleased to learn that he could still breathe. She held on for dear life as the sand wrapped itself around them and carried them down the tunnel, the drow making sure to do the same. His back struck against a large rock at one point, but the pain wasn't even noticeable, making him suspect that the woman had cast a _stoneskin_ spell on him.

They crashed against another rock not long after, this time her body bearing the brunt, and then the sand finally seemed to slow down. Pouring out from the pile of dust like bodies being pushed towards the shore, the mercenary was the first to get up. He looked around and noticed that Athrogate looked no worse for the wear, grumbling and shaking off the sand like a dog did rainwater.

“Bah!” he roared. “City by humans turns to ruins. Now even I need a bath.” He seemed preoccupied with something else, however, climbing back into the pile of sand, of all things. Jarlaxle noticed he was missing his morningstars.

Felicia groaned, and when Jarlaxle looked down, he noticed she wasn't getting up. Then he looked down at his hands and noticed they were covered in blood. He quickly turned her over on her belly and spotted the same blood on the back of her shirt, and more pouring out. She hadn't cast _stoneskin_ on herself?

Jarlaxle wasted no time in lifting her shirt up so he could inspect the injury. Sand had, of course, poured into it. He got out his waterskin – enchanted to hold an endless amount, of course – and set to work washing it out. She groaned and coughed up blood, and her breath came out in ragged gasps. Once the wound was clean, he got his healing orb out, the gash rapidly closing as the energy poured out of the white ball, through him and into her back. It didn't take long for her to breathe easier, although she did cough up some more blood before the healing session was over.

“Why didn't you cast stoneskin on yourself?” he asked as he healed her.

“I had only one left,” she explained. “It wasn't among the spells that were restored by the silver key, I'm afraid.”

“But you still chose to cast it on me,” he pointed out.

“A rash decision,” she began. “I miscalculated, thinking we'd suffer only one impact.”

“That still doesn't explain why you cast it first on me,” he argued. Jarlaxle noticed the hand on the arm that had embraced him was bloody as well, the fingers broken, but fortunately not beyond repair.

She coughed some more, but this time no more blood came out of her mouth. “I don't know why. I'm past one-thousand-seven-hundred years old and a little lonely? I could use some friends?” Another cough escaped her lips. “I might have to work on my social skills, though. This is a dreadful way to start a friendship.” Then she let out a small laugh at her own expense.

Jarlaxle wasn't laughing. He strongly disliked the idea of her getting hurt on his behalf, and for many reasons. One was that he didn't like being indebted to anyone. Another was that he didn't want the likeable people to be the ones to take the damage. Apart from their... disagreement about the medusa, Felicia had remained amiable. Her words about being lonely and needing friends also left him quiet, a feat rarely accomplished. He noticed Athrogate wore a sombre look on his face.

She got up eventually, but he wasn't done. Putting the orb aside, he grabbed her wounded hand. He removed the glove as carefully as he could, did his best to clean the hand and then fished out some wooden sticks from his bag of holding. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. In response, she bit down on the fabric of her shirt arm.

“Do it,” were the muffled words and he set to work snapping the fingers back into place. All five had her flinch, but only the last two brought out any sound from her, albeit muted. He bound her fingers to the sticks to make sure they stayed in place, and then picked the orb back up so he could heal the remaining damage. She looked behind her and found the wand she'd used on him, fortunately still intact, and gave it to him. He pocketed it.

“I hope ye've got diplomacy aplenty,” the dwarf cut in, his weapons having returned to his side, “fer now we've got ourselves some company.”

As if on cue, a dozen or so kobolds rushed forth, their spears pointed straight at the trio. More clambered over boulders and others slipped through cracks, like cats. Jarlaxle pocketed his orb and rose to his feet, whereas Athrogate slowly backed up until he stood next to the elf. Felicia grabbed her glove and got up on unsteady feet. Spears came to point at all three of them.

A voice sounded from the back of the row, and the skinny kobold warriors cleared a path. Forth stepped a chubby – mildly speaking – kobold, slightly taller than the rest and wearing a pair of men's breeches as a cloak. On his head was a hat too warm for the climate, with a furry band, on top of which rested a dented brass helmet with various things attached to it, including scorpion tails. In his hand was a piece of web-worked wood that Jarlaxle had never seen before, so intricately carved that it had to be elven made. It was too small to be used by an elf, however, but looked sturdy.

The oddly dressed kobold examined the trio from top to toe, his beady eyes going from the dwarf to the drow and finally to the woman.

“Hey, I remember those breeches,” she remarked. “They belonged to my father. He enchanted them to protect against wear and tear.”

Jarlaxle tried very hard not to think of the fact that a kobold was wearing the pants of Karsus as a cape. Snorting with laughter now would probably convince the kobolds that he was mocking them – which wouldn't be untrue – and that would make negotiations difficult. It was one thing to kill the group upstairs, but a whole nest of them would be more of a problem. If they could get through this unscathed, it would be with diplomacy, not force.

“The dark one and his companions are not welcome here,” the kobold leader said in surprisingly good Common, the look in his eyes unforgiving. “Especially the dwarf must go back now!”

“Kobold with a stick up his arse,” Athrogate grumbled, “explains the short staff to match the rest of the farse.”

The kobold shot the dwarf a glare.

“We do not come seeking conflict,” Jarlaxle replied. “We're explorers and came upon this place by chance.”

“We understand, but you must still leave,” the kobold insisted.

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” the drow countered. “You see, we come seeking some things that you may have found.”

“Things in the ruins are free for the taking,” the little monster argued. “Why should we give it to you?”

“You may keep my father's breeches if you want,” Felicia cut in. “I don't mind that. But I've lost something far more precious and would like the opportunity to examine what you've found.”

The kobold's eyes focused on the princess. “What have you lost that's so precious?”

“My memories,” came the reply, “and with it, my family.”

Every kobold surrounding them grew quiet. Jarlaxle couldn't be sure, but it almost seemed like their leader had a sympathetic look in his eyes. That might just be imagining on his part, though, as kobolds weren't known for their sympathy.

One of the little beasts muttered something in the leader's ears, and they walked away whispering things in their language. Jarlaxle managed to make out individual words like “god”, “treasure” and “test”. The leader nodded, and it seemed from what the elf could hear that they were in favour of giving them access to their findings. There seemed to be a catch, however, judging from the pleased grins on their faces. He considered his options and counted the kobolds. No doubt this was just a smaller force, knowing how much and how fast the little beasts reproduced, and even if they managed to kill them all they would be overrun. Whatever treachery the kobolds planned, picking a fight wasn't the right solution to the problem. Jarlaxle put to mind other plots that he could play out instead.

The kobold leader returned and addressed Felicia directly. “You may examine our findings, if you manage to pass under our god safely. If you fail we kill your companions.”

She shot Jarlaxle and Athrogate worried looks. “It's fine, don't worry about us,” the mercenary said and smiled. Her worry turned into deep-set concern and even a bit of defiance. “It's better than starting a fight.”

“Don't die,” she said after a few more seconds of hesitation. Jarlaxle's smile grew warm before he urged her to follow the kobolds. Her gaze stayed with him for three more steps before the beasts took her around a large boulder.

Athrogate sniffed. “I think she likes us.”

“Or she's very lonely,” the drow countered.

The dwarf shrugged. “Or both.”

Or both, indeed. Either way it was a strong motivation towards her accepting their company. Jarlaxle knew the horrors of loneliness and oppressive silence all too well. He also knew how easy it was for such people to latch onto just about anyone from sheer desperation only to dismiss them later when better – or seemingly better – company came around. The mercenary wasn't one to be treated in such a flimsy manner, and if necessary, he'd make sure to give Felicia a thorough lesson in this should she prove to be that kind of person. If not, he might just take her seriously. Not that he was in the habit of befriending females, regardless of the race. In fact, knowing himself, he might just end up bedding her.

He was good either way.


	5. The legacy of Karsus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children leaving their toys scattered about will cause no small amount of chaos. What happens when they belonged to Karsus?

Fuzzy. That was how she'd felt when she woke up, and that was what her memories were. Fuzzy, blurry images that took time to form into something coherent. The emotions attached to them were more tangible and easier to understand, and the various names and words whispered along with them she could hear clearly. It was the visuals that kept eluding her.

The key and the sight of her father's pants had sparked some memories. She remembered waking up in a bed and meeting Lilith for the first time. Her name, Felicia, had been whispered to her when she'd activated the key. Now she even had clothes and some magical items.

She also remembered huge stone doors, into which had been carved two serpents facing away from each other, topped by a downward-pointing crescent moon. Between the two serpents was a trident on top of a simplified diamond with legs and two lines striking out to either side on swirly paths. For some reason this particular image burned in her mind as strong as sunlight, leaving the rest of her memories scattered and disconnected.

Therefore, when the kobolds presented to her their treasure trove – over which towered a wooden roof of delicate latticework much like the leader's staff – and she spotted a peculiar eye that glowed purple embedded right above the low-hanging entrance, she didn't immediately recognise it. The kobolds, however, paid it a great deal of respect, even to the point of worshipping it. Stepping up in front of her, the kobold leader started a lengthy chant while the others brought out very crude music instruments. They struck up a beat that was surprisingly catchy, rising in volume and fervour, the leader's dance growing wilder and seemingly more out of control. Felicia couldn't quite shake off the feeling of being a ritualistic offering.

Nobody stabbed her or had her prostrate herself before the thing, however, so the overall purpose of the ritual eluded her.

“This is our god,” the kobold explained and pointed at the eye with his staff once the whole spectacle was over. “Only the worthy may pass under him. We found him when we looked through the treasures. If you know this place, then you know him, yes? You can remember?”

He was surprisingly well-spoken for a kobold. Awfully chatty too. Her gaze remained focused on the eye, however, something about the swirl in its centre demanding her attention. Like a whirlpool that threatened to drag her back into a world of darkness and silence. It was akin to Lilith's eyes, a vast emptiness stretching across the infinite layers of the Abyss that was her home world. She got the feeling that she'd known the Abyss once, but it was a brief, fleeting moment of emotion that disappeared as quickly as it had come. Felicia didn't miss it.

Despite not remembering that particular eye, she didn't move. A warning bell rang in her mind, cautioning her to stay put.

"Go on, step closer," the kobold leader said. He said something else too, something about being worthy, but Felicia's mind was stuck on 'step closer,' the words echoing through her head as the kobold's voice warped and became that of her father saying the same words. Memories swamped her, flashing one after another in a wave that threatened to steal her breath as she remembered very well what the eye was, what it did, and how to disable it.

Her fingers closed around one of the wands the medusae had given her, almost instinctively, and she looked down to see that it was indeed the correct one. What an interesting twist of fate that they should give her one with _that_ particular power.

“Allow me to convey upon it the friendship of my goddess first,” she offered. Before the kobolds could ask, she went into a dance she made up on the spot while chanting random words in Loross, bringing her soprano voice to the high crescendo that it was capable of. She finished with a dramatic spin, pointed the wand at the eye and sung the command word. The eye immediately turned to stone, though the purple glow remained. “It's done. My goddess and your god are now friends. I shall prove it by walking underneath it unharmed.” She flashed them her most brilliant smile. All around her the kobolds stared up with wide, adoring eyes.

Her steps took her beneath the eye, boldly, and she heard the snickers from the little creatures as they no doubt expected it to react. It couldn't, of course, being nothing more than a petrified lump. When she stepped past the trap, unharmed, their snickers turned to shocked whispers. Soon enough they were shouting loudly about foul play. Felicia used this opportunity to subtly de-petrify the eye with her other wand.

Their leader was especially suspicious. “This has to be cheating on your part! There's no way you could be worthy!”

“I beg to differ,” she countered, feigning an offended look. “A friendship between deities was built and I was found worthy.” She indicated the entrance with her hand. “Come join me if you believe yourselves equally worthy.”

The big leader took her up on the challenge and walked under the eye. A purple light flashed and the next moment he was gone. Completely disappeared into thin air, the peculiar staff, the funky hat and Karsus' pants included. All that remained, in fact, was a small pile of fine dust. Felicia feigned surprise and disappointment. The remaining kobolds looked puzzled and shocked. It seemed their conclusion was that their leader had incurred the wrath of their god somehow, and that Felicia was his new favourite, because none of them stepped forward.

In truth, the eye was one of Karsus' many failed experiments. Originally taken from a member of some subterranean species that she couldn't remember the name of, he'd tried placing various enchantments on it, including making it sentient. This had resulted in the eye obtaining the personality of the one the archwizard had taken it from, and it had proven to be volatile, vicious and whimsical. It also ended up possessing the power to disintegrate anything that went under it, unless someone managed to appease it first.

Seeing as it was still a living piece of flesh, albeit unable to rot thanks to a permanent _gentle repose_ effect, her father had found that the most effective way to walk under it safely and without wasting time was to petrify it. He would de-petrify it later on, of course, in case agents of enemy wizards tried to sneak into his laboratory. He'd invested heavily in wands of both _flesh to stone_ and _stone to flesh_ as a result. Not that the kobolds needed to know this, of course, and fortunately, the petrification effect did nothing to cancel out the purple glow. For all intents and purposes, their “god” had seemed very much active when she'd passed under “him”.

Once the kobolds had settled down, she seized upon the opportunity once more. “I'll take what I please from your collected treasures. Know that you must pass under the judgement of your god if you wish to stop me.” The looks of fear on their faces were priceless, and she set to work examining everything they'd gathered.

There were some precious tomes from Karsus' library that she recognised, as well as journals from what she guessed were the archaeologists. Some ancient coins lay about, too. No doubt they had lost their value except to collectors. A couple of enchanted wands that she took her time to study turned out to be one that cured even grave wounds and the other gave her or somebody else the power to levitate. There were gold coins that looked strange and foreign to her, as well as a few, precious gems. She shamelessly pocketed what she could. The gold coins, especially, would be part of the payment to Jarlaxle and Athrogate, and she might even be willing to part with one of her wands if need be. They'd need the journals, too, as well as the tomes, though she hoped they'd let her study the latter before giving them up.

Last among the treasures was a black cloak that seemed to twist and turn in funny ways when she looked at it. She could vaguely remember having worn it at one point in her life. Well, she was the princess of the ruins, wasn't she? After examining it to see what its enchantment was, she found it safe to put on and did so. Then she looked back at the eye, petrified it again with her wand hidden under her new cloak and walked under the kobolds' “deity” with impunity.

A part of her fully expected the little creatures to attack her despite the display earlier, but much to her surprise, they fell down on their knees and hands in blatant worship. Felicia decided she didn't have the heart to undo the petrification as that meant more disintegration of unsuspecting kobolds. Hopefully they'd find another trap to use on would-be thieves.

Though, technically, she was one of those thieves. She surprised herself by not feeling the least bit sorry.

The look on Jarlaxle's face when the kobolds let them go without a fight made it even more worthwhile. He accepted the journals and coins, and she hesitated only slightly before giving him the petrifying wand. She really wasn't fond of turning something into stone unless her own survival depended on it.

Amusement bubbled up inside her when the elf and dwarf started bickering over the gold pieces. It ended with Jarlaxle giving the money to Athrogate, but he kept the wand. Somehow she wasn't surprised.

Getting back to the third level was going to be a challenge, however. The sand had covered the floor of the entire tunnel and blocked the entrance. Their rescue came in the form of the kobolds who had a new favourite in Karsus' daughter. Instead of digging through the sand they guided them towards another tunnel that they promised led straight to the fourth level. Jarlaxle and Athrogate both hesitated, so Felicia fearlessly stepped in first. The drow said something about historical value before following, his voice heavy with alarm, Athrogate grumbling something while hot on his trail.

As the kobolds promised, the tunnel did indeed take them to the fourth level. Felicia had been smiling over some banter between her companions, but it died down as she was reunited with the place where she'd woken up. The place where she'd been attacked. Her body froze and she had trouble breathing. She swallowed hard and took deep breaths in order to settle the knot of fear that had formed in her stomach.

There were no traces left of her attacker, but even so it took her longer to calm down than she wished. A part of her was angry with herself for having such a reaction – it wasn't as if this had been the first time her life had been in danger. Just as that thought struck her, she felt her mind grasp at another memory, a very faint one, but it slipped away. Frustration mixed with anger. She couldn't count on being as lucky with her other memories as she had been with the eye. If she could just find the golden key, wherever it was, it would help immensely.

The body count wasn't as high as in the topmost levels, but even so the lack of living creatures was worrisome. Surely there would be _some_ scavengers around? Yet the corpses were untouched, except by Jarlaxle and Athrogate as they alternated between examining and looting them.

Felicia was more concerned with examining the area, easily spotting the egg-shaped contraption that her father had created. The one that Lilith had stuffed her into against her wishes. That memory surprised her, and with it came another, of herself being held in the demon's arms as she saw her home fall to the ground. She was so taken aback by that revelation that she stumbled backwards a few steps. A strong hand came to steady her before she could fall, however, and she looked to see Jarlaxle standing next to her. There was a look of quiet understanding in his eyes and she remained transfixed by his gaze a little longer than she meant to. He didn't seem to mind.

“Lilith did this,” she explained once she trusted her voice to speak. “She put me in that,” she pointed at the device, “ _machine_ and its magic preserved me.” Jarlaxle stepped up to it, no doubt to study it closer. She doubted there was any magic still left in it, and no doubt she sounded crazy without any proof to back up her statements. It seemed most likely that the power in the invention was gone. That was, until the drow moved aside some rubble to reveal a smaller device, similar in shape and still radiating magic. Curiosity overcame her and she stepped closer.

“It seems there's something as alive as us still inside,” he told her and she hurried until she was next to him. Peering inside a window on the tiny machine, she spotted a small, dark and furry creature.

Her eyes widened as she remembered. “That's my familiar.”

“May I study the magic before you free it?” he asked, and while the idea of having to wait to be reunited with one of her closest and dearest friends pained her greatly, she nodded and stepped back. It seemed he'd noticed the troubled look on her face, because he flashed her a reassuring smile. “I'll be as quick about it as I can.” Then his gaze returned to the contraption. Felicia stepped back, deciding to give him as much space as he needed. That left her with a room full of memories she'd much rather forget. The irony was great.

She noticed Athrogate had gone missing. The entire room was too quiet now. Felicia couldn't stand such heavy silence. It was nothing like the stillness that came over her when she meditated, or the peace that she felt during a sacred ritual. This silence was oppressive and suffocating. The sooner she was gone from it the better.

Her eyes spotted a chardalyn lying a few feet in front of her. Something about its unique shape seemed strangely familiar, and she couldn't help but wonder what a single chardalyn did lying in such a random place. With the elf occupied and the dwarf gone, she stepped up to it and picked it up, the action of doing so launching a memory. With utter clarity did she realise just what that chardalyn did and that its current small size was just a deception. She stored it in a pocket in her cloak before anyone could notice what she was doing.

They weren't going to leave, however. Jarlaxle and Athrogate planned to delve right into the danger. Surely they would die doing so. Die and leave her alone. Just like her sisters had died and left her alone. She had a feeling her father was to blame, but she didn't know the details. Perhaps she should ask Jarlaxle while she still had the chance?

Athrogate returned just as the elf finished examining the machine, and the drow confirmed it was all the evidence he needed to believe her. It was a relief that he didn't think her crazy, at least. He then relayed his findings to the dwarf who shared some of his own right back. Mostly some papers lying about.

Felicia had one priority greater than learning the truth of Netheril's fall, and that was to awaken her familiar. She stepped over to the machine where Jarlaxle was and, after getting some instructions from him, she managed to undo the magic binding the creature. A door opened and the thing stirred, four paws sticking out along with a fluffy tail. Felicia smiled as she picked the cat up in her arms and gently pried him away from the device. She remembered it was a he, for she'd named him Lucifer. When the small, warm animal rested against her chest did she finally feel a first bit of relief wash over her. Relief that _someone_ from her past other than Lilith had survived. It was such a heavy emotional blow that her knees buckled under her and tears ran down her cheeks.

Lucifer recognised his mistress easily enough and almost immediately proceeded to purr. Felicia kissed him like a loving mother would their newborn baby and she cradled him as if he was the most precious creature in the world. She ended up sitting on a boulder with the cat still in her arms until he tired of it and wriggled free. Felicia let him wander around and explore while she wiped her face free of tears and got back up on her feet. First thing he did was cautiously approach Jarlaxle and Athrogate.

The dwarf looked at the cat and the cat stared right back. Scratching his beard, Athrogate sent a questioning look Felicia's way. “A bit small ta be a good ally, so I'm guessin' he's the extra food supply?”

In response, Lucifer jumped up on the dwarf's broad shoulders and peed on him. Jarlaxle didn't even try to hide his amusement, whereas Felicia didn't fully succeed at stifling her giggle. Athrogate looked none too pleased, yet he let the cat jump back down and return to his position from before. Another staring contest took place that lasted about a minute, and then the dwarf burst out laughing.

“Aye, that be a good cat,” he said once his laughter had passed. “Let's hope he doesn't like acting like a hat.”

Felicia found she appreciated Athrogate more and more.

On his part, Jarlaxle crouched before the cat and let him smell him. Lucifer looked up at him for a while, looked over at Felicia and then walked back to her. He then proceeded to rub his face up against her boots, an act that the sorceress knew was to “mark” her.

Jarlaxle blinked. “Did I do something to offend?”

She shrugged. “He's just territorial.” Lucifer spoke words to her that, as his mistress, only she could understand. Her eyes widened and then she let out a short giggle. “He says to find your own human. This one's taken.”

The elf's expression suggested he wasn't about to. “In that case, your cat can find himself another dwarf.” A look was exchanged between Jarlaxle and Lucifer that was equal parts comical and disturbing. Athrogate burped.

Felicia cleared her throat. “I've been meaning to ask you something.” Jarlaxle and Lucifer broke eye contact and the cat went back to the task of rubbing up against her boots. “How did the empire fall?”

The drow's face grew serious. “Short version? Mystra died and magic failed.”

It took her several seconds to regain her voice. “I take it Mystra is the same as Mystryl?” He nodded. “It was my father's fault, wasn't it?” She looked at him directly, but she couldn't glean any information from his neutral expression. A moment's silence followed, damnable, accursed silence.

“What the lore in the church of Mystra says is that he tried to become the god of magic with a single spell,” he explained.

She frowned. “That's impossible, even for him.” Even as she said those words, though, she got the distinct feeling that she was wrong.

“He succeeded,” the elf countered. Felicia felt all the heat drain from her face and a knot formed in her stomach. “His body couldn't contain all that power, however, so it killed him, and his death would then have destroyed the Weave.”

Despite having clothes on, she felt cold. Lucifer, probably having sensed her growing distress, stopped rubbing up against her. “What happened?”

“The goddess of magic sacrificed herself to save the Weave,” came the reply, and she immediately knew what that meant. Mystryl _was_ the Weave. Without her, all magic failed, as he'd stated it did.

“Magic died and the empire came crashing down,” she concluded. He nodded. The knot in her stomach grew.

“Mystryl was reborn later as Mystra and she managed to save three of the cities,” the drow informed her, but it did nothing to help her feel better.

“There were over fifty of them,” she muttered. “Tens of thousands of people must have died. No magic to save them, nothing. The chaos that would have erupted elsewhere, too, including other planes of existence...” A lump formed in her throat. She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists. Her eyes grew wet, but her efforts prevented tears from streaming forth. This was neither the time nor place, and she didn't want the other two to start asking too many questions. They could think this was mere grief for the empire that had been her home. It wasn't untrue. The complete truth, however, was infinitely more complicated – and dangerous.

Lucifer knew, and he sensed her true feelings on the matter. He easily climbed back into her arms and proceeded to purr. Felicia sniffled and was able to swallow the lump in her throat.

“I have a question for you,” the drow cut in, drawing her attention back to him. “How did you manage to rob the kobolds without a fight?”

The knot in her stomach temporarily disappeared. She opened her mouth to respond. Before a single word could escape, however, a rumbling sound beneath her reached them. The ground shook violently and she stumbled around. Over by Jarlaxle and Athrogate, the same problem happened. They ran towards the open entrance leading further down, and she ran to catch up to them. A green ray shot out of the ground, however, and disintegrated it until nothing but a gaping hole could be found where the trio had meant to run. Out of it floated a giant, round creature with several eye stalks, its eyes aimed straight at the drow and dwarf.

Felicia pointed her finger at the creature and was already in the casting of a _lightning bolt_ spell, but even so she knew she'd be too late. More green rays shot up around her. The floor gave away to the point where she no longer had anything to step on. She fell down into darkness, her bolt of electricity going up to the roof rather than hit the beholder. The last thing she saw was the monster firing rays at Jarlaxle and Athrogate while the drow pointed a wand right back. Then everything around her crumbled and fell into a pit of darkness with her.


	6. Burn, baby, burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great wizards vs great fathers. Karsus did one brilliantly, but how did he do the other? Was he a people person? Did his experiment fail, like the medusa said? Also, who is this creepy fellow named Lord Shadow?

A tall, imposing man with an intense gaze met her in Karsus' laboratory, as Lilith had called the room. Felicia met his gaze squarely, for surely this had to be her mystery “father”. His face took on a disapproving look, which she matched with stubborn defiance. A staring contest – or, rather, a glaring contest – started between them.

“That will be all, Lord Shadow,” said a male voice, drawing the man's gaze away from her. Felicia's eyes widened in surprise and she looked over to see a shorter man; less imposing and intense, but somehow radiating even more power, if such was possible. The taller man bowed and left and she turned to face the other. He sized her up and down with dark eyes and frowned. “She takes more after her mother than me.”

“I'm right here, you know,” Felicia growled. His eyebrows shot up to the middle of his forehead.

Lilith coughed. “Not in all ways, my Lord Karsus.”

Karsus' eyes lingered on Felicia. “Indeed.” A short silence followed. “Blood of my blood-”

“My _name_ is Felicia,” she corrected him.

“And mine is Karsus,” he quipped. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I'm sure,” she shot back dryly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Karsus sent Lilith a questioning look, but all he got in response was an innocent shrug. “Your unpleasant disposition aside, you are my daughter, and so it falls upon me to welcome you to Eileanar, one of the flying cities of Netheril.”

“Having my memories tampered with is infinitely more unpleasant than a bit of sarcasm, thank you very much,” she argued. “Clearly I have an over-sensitive father.”

“I'd rather argue that I have an over-sensitive daughter,” he countered.

“Perhaps you'd like to have _your_ memories altered, then,” she snapped, “see how _you_ like it!”

“Enough!” he made a sweeping motion with his hand and several daggers that had been lying on a table flew towards her and came to float in the air around her. She stood very still. “You're lucky I have need of you, _Felicia_ , or I would have killed you for such insolence!” Her gaze remained unchanged, hiding the fact that her heart was in her throat, but she didn't object further.

“My Lord Karsus, I believe the princess is simply not in her best emotional state after all the... _drastic_ changes that have happened to her lately,” Lilith cut in. She turned to face Felicia, a perfectly charming smile plastered on her face. The princess didn't trust her one bit. “Perhaps some time alone to absorb all the information will do you some good. Eileanar also sports a library full of books on arcane lore and Netherese history. If you wish, Your Highness, I can take you there for some light reading later, once you feel better.”

Despite having daggers pointed at her, she let out a 'harrumph'. “It beats being in the presence of this stuffy, old man.”

Karsus made a similar noise. “See to it there are fewer threats on your end, then, _daughter_.” The daggers flew back to the table, landing gracefully in the same places they'd been, as if nobody had moved them in the first place.

“Well, if you'd rather I simply _do_ the things instead-” she began, but was cut short when Lilith positioned herself between them, grabbed her by the shoulders and forcibly turned her towards the door. Her heart still pounded madly in her chest.

“Our thanks for your time, My Lord,” the woman said loudly. “We will see you at dinner, perhaps? It's important to spend time with the family after all!” Felicia was shoved out the door just as she heard Karsus grumble something about having no time for such things, but he would see what he could do.

“Are you two playing house?” Felicia asked as they were outside, but instead of getting a response, Lilith grabbed her roughly and shoved her up against the wall.

“Now, you listen carefully, you spoiled, entitled little bitch,” the much stronger woman hissed. Her face contorted in rage, eyes flashing with something Felicia hadn't noticed before, while all around them the atmosphere changed to something foul and unnatural. The princess felt her toes curl and a sickness settled in her stomach. “I saved your hide in there because you're useful to your father and his plans, but that will continue only for as long as I'm in a mood to comply with that.” Her face drew closer and her entire being became more menacing, if that was at all possible. “If you ever threaten Karsus, or me, again, I will drag you off to a place much worse than this and show you _true_ horrors beyond what that miniscule, mortal brain of yours can even begin to imagine, do you understand?”

Whatever had changed in Lilith was enough to silence the princess, and while many good comebacks came to mind, Felicia thought better than to test her luck. A part of her vowed to get back at Lilith and Karsus one day, however.

An evil smile grew on Lilith's lips. “Feel free to give that a try, princess, once you think you're strong enough.” So she was telepathic.

A smirk grew on Felicia's face, despite how her body trembled, as she realised what kind of creature that most likely made Lilith. “You're a demon. A succubus, I'm guessing. All the other demons are male, after all, except the mariliths, and they don't usually loom over mortal men the way you do. I'm guessing the male demons only have each other to play with when you're unavailable? Is that why you're fawning over my father? To get away from your rape-happy kin?”

Lilith raised an eyebrow upon Felicia calling her out on her abyssal nature, but then her face took on a look of boredom. “Oh, please. When I wander through the Abyss I make Demogorgon my pet.” She let go of Felicia and even stepped back a bit. The atmosphere changed back to normal and the princess already felt a lot better. “You're too smart for your own good, just like your father, and your speech is much too free-spirited for a princess.”

Felicia shrugged, but her confidence from before had returned only halfway. “I would argue that it had to do with my upbringing, but since I'm not allowed to remember that...” She trailed off with a half-hearted smirk.

“It seems I have much to teach you about proper etiquette, then,” Lilith concluded, ignoring the remark about the lost memory, and started walking in the direction they'd come. Felicia stayed put. “Come along, princess. A demon I may be, but considering the kinds of enemies your father has, I'm highly necessary for your protection. Not to mention he's appointed me as your tutor.”

In response, the princess snorted. “A succubus governess. What could you possibly have to teach me besides sexual positions and how to take a man's soul through his semen?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of diplomacy,” the demon countered.

“Truly?” Felicia asked with a slight laugh. “Because all I've seen you do is threaten and lie. Unless that's how you do diplomacy in the lower planes?”

Lilith stopped dead in her tracks and turned to send her a look of warning. “Your fearlessness will only have meaning when you have the power to back it up, princess.”

Felicia didn't argue that point. Despite her tough talk, she knew she was powerless in many ways. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and she remained quiet as she trailed after the fiend.

“Have any of my friends- _sisters_ woken up yet?” she asked as they arrived at her bedroom.

“Not yet,” Lilith informed her. Felicia couldn't see, hear or sense a lie in her words, but she still wasn't about to trust a demon. “You're the first.”

“How long until they do?” the princess pressed, remaining in the doorway, her gaze locked with the fiend's.

Lilith shrugged. “You took three days longer than we anticipated. The maximum amount of time that they can stay in their comatose state is infinite. They can choose to wake up or choose to stay asleep.”

“May I see them?” Felicia took one step away from her room. “If I speak to them and they hear my voice, it might help their awakening.”

In response, the succubus sent her a sceptical look. “What difference does it make for me that your sisters are awake or not?”

“I'm more cooperative when surrounded by people I actually give a damn about,” the blonde remarked.

“More cooperative or less obstinate?” Lilith countered.

Felicia shrugged. “With me it's often the same thing.”

She couldn't be sure, but it almost looked as if the powerful demon was... amused? “This way, then,” Lilith bid and off they went.

 

* * *

 

Her entire body hurt, a good sign that she was alive. Felicia's eyes fluttered open and took in the sight of rocks above her, around her and beneath her. She tried moving her head and found herself successfully avoiding more pain in doing so. That was a good sign, right? Darkness surrounded her, but her eyes, blessed by her goddess in return for her devotion, could see clearly as if she was out in the sun. Well, almost. She couldn't discern colours under such conditions, which was yet another reason why she preferred being out in the light. Colours made life more interesting.

The next thing she found was that she could move her fingers without bringing extra pain upon herself – apart from the fingers that Jarlaxle had snapped back into place, of course. It was with relief that she saw the makeshift bandage hadn't come undone.

Her arms could be moved, too, albeit carefully, and the same was true for her legs. Sitting up was harder, and she noticed she had a considerable breathing problem. Not wanting to take any chances in regards to internal injury, she grasped her holy symbol in one hand and placed the other on her stomach. Her lips moved in silent prayer, whispering the name of her goddess in the familiar chant that made her hands warm and took away pain and damage wherever those hands touched. She repeated the chant over and over while entering the deep, meditative state required to connect with her deity. It took several long moments, and for a while she wondered if her goddess could hear her at all.

She had no idea how long she chanted. Silver light from the heavens and golden light from the earth's core filled her to the brim. Her hands grew warm, but it took her a whole second to notice. Once she did, however, feeling her connection with her patroness once more, she uttered her prayer, asking for her wounds to be healed. In response, the warmth left her hands and entered her body. Soon enough her entire body tingled with healing energy. Her breathing eased up, the pain subsided into a dull ache and she could even move her fingers again. She sat up and looked around, noticing a tunnel underground and none of her companions nearby. An explosion sounded above her and some sand and small rocks tumbled down to hit her on the head. She flinched and covered herself with her arms, but no more debris came her way.

Her eyes went up, but it was obvious from the even surface of the round stone tunnel that led back up to the third level that she wouldn't be able to climb back up. It was also a very long way back up, which made her wonder how she'd survived the fall. Ahead of her was another tunnel, though where it led was anyone's guess. Still, she had no other choice but to move forward, so she did, the tip of her boot butting against something small that made a sound like two glasses clinking. She looked down and saw a key similar to the one she'd used to recover her spells, except it was made of gold. Was that the one the medusae had spoken of? Felicia crouched down and picked it up, the contact with the key enough to remind her of something very important. Something that was very useful against beholders and something she adamantly hated about herself.

Karsus' greatest legacy and weapon against the phaerimm was her. He hadn't failed his experiment, in fact he'd been highly successful. His failure had come as a father, and that was why she had refused to kill phaerimm for him. That and because she genuinely believed his plan to stop the aberrations by wiping them out was absolutely disgusting. She had refused, and since even he was powerless to make her, he'd said something about going for the alternative.

The alternative. Had he meant becoming the god of magic? That had been his backup plan? Her head spun and she remembered Lilith's words as she clutched Felicia and Lucifer to her chest. Clutching them and keeping them aloft in the air as all the flying cities around them dropped out of the sky and crashed into the ground. Felicia remembered the images, but Lilith's words had burned themselves into the back of her mind.

_This is what happens when a princess is selfish. You could have saved the lives of thousands, but instead they die. Because of your soft heart, you've doomed them all._

She dropped to her knees and the key fell out of her hand. Memories of servants, commoners, children and the rare, few members of the court that she could actually trust flashed before her eyes. Her fellow clerics came next. Although the temple had been built on the surface and not in a flying city, there had been a moment when magic had failed for them, too. What had happened to them? Had the church survived or was she the last Torchbearer? Tears ran down her cheeks, tears she couldn't stop even if she tried. She ended up hugging her knees and rocking back and forth as sobs racked her form.

“Ack, here I hoped you'd enjoy memories of happy kittens and sunshine,” said a familiar male voice from before her. She looked up to see Jarlaxle approach her. While his eyes held no pity in them, which she wouldn't want from him anyway, he wasn't mocking her either. She buried her face in her arms, not liking that he could see her cry.

“I prefer moonlight,” she managed to say once her voice was back to at least a functional level and she looked up to see a slight upturn of the corner of his lips. A few more sniffles sounded, but her tears had dried up, at least. Her eyes took in more of the area, but she couldn't find Lucifer anywhere.

As if he'd read her mind, Jarlaxle opened up his _bag of holding_ and pulled the feline in question out by his scruff like a kitten. Lucifer wiggled free and jumped straight into the arms of his mistress. His warm fur and rumbling purr immediately put her at ease, although a great deal of guilt still weighed her down.

“You saved his life?” she asked the drow, petting a slightly dirty Lucifer who looked thoroughly happy in her arms. Until he grew hungry, as was the nature of cats.

“He was easier to catch up to,” he remarked off-handedly, as if doing something solely for the benefit of somebody else was highly unusual for him. Felicia didn't blame him, in fact she was the same.

“So you saved my familiar.” Putting Lucifer down, she got up on her feet and stepped very close to Jarlaxle. She leaned in slightly, watching for any reaction from the drow. The elf looked at her expectantly, and with a hint of curiosity, but he didn't push her away. She leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

It was meant as a simple show of gratitude, but the contact made her lips tingle and her body reacted much the same way. She withdrew quickly, but the look of mild surprise on his face, mixed with a growing smile, told her he hadn't minded. Her cheeks flared up, a reaction that made her feel like a silly girl, of all things. She cleared her throat. “Um, thank you.”

“You're quite welcome,” he replied. A deep, sinister purr sounded from Lucifer and caught their attention. They looked to see the cat's tail bushed out like a bottle brush, his yellow eyes glaring daggers at Jarlaxle. A frustrated sigh escaped Felicia's lips, but before she could chastise the feline, she was grabbed around the waist and by the shoulder. Jarlaxle used his own body weight to push her to the ground and he landed partially on top of her, Lucifer sprinting ahead. Rocks crumbled down around them and she felt the very air around her become static, making the hair on the back of her neck stand out. She heard the sizzle before the place lit up and she looked up to see a lightning bolt fly out of Jarlaxle's wand. It struck an eye stalk that happened to be peering over the hole in the rock that it had just created, a pained roar sounding from what she guessed was a beholder.

“You've got a smart cat,” he told her before pushing her back up on her feet. “Now run!”

For some reason she couldn't get her feet to move. “You're coming too, right?”

In response, he gave her a warm smile before shoving her in the direction that the cat had gone. She had to move her feet in order to keep from falling, but she ran all the same. A glance back, however short, and she no longer saw him. Not even a statue. Biting down on her lower lip, she hoped and prayed that he'd simply gone invisible.

The tunnel took a sharp turn to the left, where she noticed a bit too late that Lucifer was hiding in an indent. Her steps took her a bit too far, however, and she suddenly found herself in a small cavern face to face with a beholder.

She barely had time to will the result of her father's experiments into activating before several rays shot forth from the creature's eye stalks, all heading her way. They struck her squarely but did her no harm, not externally anyway. Felicia had many reasons to hate this power, and one of them was the sensation whenever she used it. For lesser magic it would tingle, for mid-level it would prick her skin like long, sharp needles, but for really powerful magic it _burned_.

The rays stopped and the eye stalks blinked, but she wouldn't give the creature a chance to change its tactics. Felicia pointed one finger at the beholder and out leapt blue-white flames, searing through what magical defences the creature had and burning it in ways that not even magical fire could. The creature howled in pain, and some of the eye stalks reacted by sending more of its destructive rays her way, but all that did was fuel the fire further.

As her father had put it, it was the most effective weapon against the phaerimm apart from golems. _Spellfire_. Magic cast on her, at her or around her she had the power to absorb and she could transform it into raw, magical fire that could be used to burn or heal. For this one, she chose burn.

Not that it was without risks. If she absorbed too much it could very well destroy her. Karsus had wanted to experiment further, to make her the ultimate weapon – against enemy arcanists as much as the phaerimm, she'd found. She'd refused to go along with such a plan and had sought refuge in the temple of her goddess, where the clerics had taught her a gentler form of magic.

This wasn't the time to reminisce about things past, however. Three more beholders flew in as the first one slumped to the ground, burnt to a crisp. While absorbing their eye rays was easy enough, Felicia didn't actually know anything about beholders, let alone how or why many of their kind would nest in a place like this. She could tell that they were ugly and buoyant, and that was all she cared to know. Perhaps on another day she'd study the different effects of their rays, but that wasn't something she could afford at the moment.

More rays shot forth only to be absorbed, the magic transforming into more fire that she unleashed upon them. It burned inside of her as well, as if the denizens of the Lower Planes were warring each other. Beholders, she concluded, were powerful creatures!

Even as one of them dropped to the ground, her spellfire drew up short of the second one. So one of their rays could duplicate the effects of a _dispel magic_ spell. It was one of the weaknesses of her unique power. Not that it mattered, though, unless the beholders had mundane attack forms that they could use.

It turned out that they did. One of them opened up its massive mouth, revealing two rows of long, sharp fangs. She'd die, or at the very least get badly wounded, if she got bitten by those, and the _lightning bolt_ was at the tip of her fingers in no time. Old habits died hard.

Fortunately she was quick enough for the spell to strike right through the giant ball of eyes and it shuddered from the effect before it joined its burnt kin on the ground. She turned to the third beholder, and she noticed that one had opened up its central eye. Felicia felt weak and drained all of a sudden, the usual feeling of having her magic being gone.

The daughter of Karsus was too well-versed in magic not to recognise the effects of an _anti-magic field_ spell. While it nullified her spells along with her spellfire, it probably also had a similar effect on the creature's eye rays. She didn't have any weapons to use against the beholder, and her wands had been rendered useless by its eye. Her enemy, on the other hand, bared its fangs at her and, with an angry snarl, advanced.

The goddess that Felicia served had once worked for Mystryl, however, and so knew secrets of the Weave that most other deities didn't. She'd even stolen a few of them. One of those secrets she had bestowed upon her most loyal Torchbearers. Felicia was such a one.

It was a risky endeavour, and the more powerful the spell the more difficult it was to pull off. She called upon one of the powers that her goddess had bestowed upon her, and to her relief did a magical flame burst to life in her palm. Before the beholder could even think to close its central eye and dispel it with an eye ray she tossed that flame straight into the creature's eye. As it screamed in pain, she followed it up with another bolt of electricity, successfully laying the beast low.

She enjoyed a full second of rest until the sound of more beholder-snarls came from the other end of the cave. They would be too many for her to defeat. She'd die if she stayed, and while that was probably long overdue, a part of her still wanted to live. With a sigh, Felicia turned back around and ran, all the while racking her brain for a solution.


	7. A rock and a hard place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athrogate demonstrates in more ways than one how dwarves are Children of the Stone. Jarlaxle momentarily wonders if surface ventures are really his thing, even though he's technically underground. Felicia's power, as dangerous as it is, is no match for her heart.

Metal connected with the floating eyeball's underside – a good old-fashioned “up yours” – and elicited an amusing howl of pain from the beholder. The dwarf would have cracked jokes about it had the drow been around, or just for his own sake for that matter – was it not for the fact that these creatures were dangerous and he therefore didn't have the time for comedy. Not to mention there seemed to be a whole nest of them, and if he made too much noise he'd attract more than he could handle. His second morningstar flew up to follow the first. He made sure to stay beneath the thing as he bashed away at it, his arms skilfully avoiding getting struck by the creature's eye rays.

Athrogate wasn't an expert on the powers of beholders, but he knew one ray could kill, another could play with his mind into thinking the beholder was his friend and a third could carve a hole through his chest and out his back. Dwarves were suspicious of magic in general, but there was something about physique-altering spells in particular that unnerved him.

Hence his tactic of playing a mole. All-around vision was an exaggeration. Right below was their blind spot, and he took full advantage. It didn't take long for his weapons to breach the creature's leathery skin and out oozed blood. The thing fled, predictably so, and the dwarf slipped back into his hole, counting the seconds. First sound he heard was the ' _twang_ ' as the string tightened and then the surprised grunt as it cut through the creature and created many small bits of beholder that he heard land on the ground. Athrogate looked back to see the handiwork of the enchanted string that he'd bought in Waterdeep. The outcome that he'd envisioned had indeed come true.

He gave the material an appraising nod before he set to cleaning up the remains. Fortunately the strings had another enchantment on them that prevented anything from sticking to it – making the cuts all the cleaner – so other beholders wouldn't suspect any tricks if they came flying down this tunnel. He just hoped the drow wouldn't come this way, and if the princess got killed by his trap, he'd probably never hear the end of it. The dwarf had seen the greedy look in the elf's eyes when they learned of her parentage, after all, and he'd seen enough of his companion to know that disrupting his plans was a bad idea, intentionally or not.

Not that Athrogate fully believed the woman's tale. Like all dwarves he was slow to trust, in fantastic stories especially, and hers was as fantastic as they came. Eyeing the area, he saw no signs of either Jarlaxle or Felicia. Most likely the sorceress had fallen into the hole that the beholders had created and the elf, being crazy enough where profit and women were concerned, had probably jumped in after her. Athrogate picked up the last bit of eye tyrant and threw it into the hole he'd dug before covering it up. That was one beast killed, at least, not counting the one that he and Jarlaxle had taken down before getting separated by more of them. They seemed to pop up just as another of their kind went down, and knowing that, the dwarf dug himself another hole and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. This beast didn't even give him the chance to bash away at it with his weapons as it came floating in from the opposite side of its unfortunate kin. It got sliced up by the string, the pieces dropping to the ground with squishy ' _thumps_ '. Athrogate counted the seconds, waiting to see if another would come out, but when the silence continued did he peek out from his hiding place. Nothing but rocks and the meaty remains of his most recent kill could be seen. He climbed out and approached, quickly taking to the task of filling up his new hole with the pieces. If his calculations were correct, there was only one beholder left still lurking about, so once he'd dealt with that he could meet up with the drow again and they could figure out their next move.

Once the hole was filled and covered he dug his last one and slipped inside. It was almost too easy, but that was what cunning accomplished that brute force couldn't. Not that brute force didn't have its merits, of course, but it wasn't enough to overcome the many dangers that Faerûn had to offer.

More ' _thumps_ ' sounded and, after waiting the same amount of seconds, he peered out to see the pieces of yet another dead beholder. This one was a lot smaller than the others and had a different colour. He got out and approached, but his danger sense, an instinct he had developed after centuries of battles, had him stop and grab the hilts of his weapons. He spun around just as he heard the drow's shout of alarm, but the elf's voice was distant and it wasn't Jarlaxle he came face to face with. A beholder glared right back at him and one of its many eye rays was headed straight for him even as he raised his weapons. The ray hit him right in the chest, the beholder snarled in victory and that was the last he knew of this world.

 

* * *

 

A beholder's corpse on the ground, with a scorch mark around a dark hole in its forehead was all the information she needed to conclude how things had gone for Jarlaxle. The elf was, of course, missing, as was the golden key she'd dropped. Felicia quickly clambered over the debris left behind from the hole that the creature had carved and crawled inside. Beholders weren't terribly large creatures, she realised, as she kept crawling down the tunnel to what she hoped was an abandoned area. If only she'd known a spell to make herself invisible! At least then she would have an advantage over these monsters. Not that spellfire wasn't an advantage, but she hated depending on it. Many decent mages had turned into power-mad lunatics after witnessing her power, and she wasn't reassured in the least that Jarlaxle wouldn't react the same way should he find out. Even if it turned out that he didn't want to use her spellfire for his own ends, in her experience, those who lacked such ambitions had a tendency to scream in terror and run in the opposite direction.

True friendships were rare.

She crawled as fast as she could, stopping only when she reached the other end of the tunnel. It was a good thing she did, too, she realised, as it ended in a steep fall of roughly seventy feet. Bestial snarls echoed through the tunnel, however, informing her that the pursuing beholders weren't far behind. She gritted her teeth – she possessed no spells that allowed her to defy gravity, nor was she a monk. Her healing spells for the day had been used up earlier, so she couldn't afford another fall, either.

There was one spell she could have tried had it been restored along with the others, but of course it hadn't. She racked her brain for a solution, but no matter how much she thought about it, only one solution came to her mind. It was crazy and desperate and would probably get her killed. Then again, so was waiting for the monsters to catch up.

Looking back the way she'd come one last time, the princess crawled out of the hole and let herself fall.

 

* * *

 

Retaliation was immediate. Lightning pierced through the beholder and sent shocks through it until it collapsed on the ground. Jarlaxle pocketed his wand after making sure the thing was dead and, after tossing some good old-fashioned dust in between himself and the now petrified Athrogate, his eyes were able to take in the sight of the strings that the dwarf had put up. It was a clever trap, nothing less expected from a companion of his, except that once a creature knew where it was, they could easily bypass it by climbing over some boulders. Their invisibility had no doubt been what Athrogate had been banking on, too.

No doubt the beholder that had turned his friend to stone had seen one of its kin get sliced by the string and had used a gauth, a much smaller and weaker version of itself, as bait to lure the dwarf out of his hiding place. Not that Jarlaxle could fault his friend – he, too, had counted the beholders that had come for them, and he hadn't seen a gauth, either. Not to mention beholders were easily prone to anger and rage against any other creature killing their own, xenophobic as they were. That one of them managed to stay calm and calculating while watching its kin die at the trap of a “lesser” creature didn't bode well.

More of the creatures had been found in the tunnel that Felicia had fallen into, as well. If his guesses were correct, the presence of this many beholders suggested a hive mother nested somewhere, with even more beholders floating about. Beholders that now knew they were there.

Jarlaxle took full stock of his situation. Athrogate was a statue and resourceful though he was, the drow didn't have the means to undo his petrification. He'd also been separated from Felicia, whose presence would have helped him gain a good measure of trust – and profit – from scholars and wizards virtually all over Faerûn. What tomes and information he'd gathered paled in comparison to a living, breathing survivor of the fall of Netheril _and_ the offspring of Karsus. No matter how he looked at it, this profitable venture had gone sour and, if he stayed, it would probably get worse. Was this to be his _third_ defeat on the surface? He gritted his teeth in frustration, but even as he did so other solutions came to his mind.

One thing he could do was to backtrack until he was in a safe area and call upon Kimmuriel to pull some strings with one of the wizards in his home city Menzoberranzan, but the price would be steep for de-petrifying a dwarf. As for finding Felicia, he had her key, which meant she could track him if she knew the right spell. She had nothing of his with which he could track her, however, nor were they so familiar with each other that he could use the spell that tracked people. That meant that even if he could afford the restoration of his dwarven companion, locating the woman – hopefully still alive – while... _manoeuvring_ through a hive of beholders would be, at best, extremely difficult.

He couldn't afford to have the wizard de-petrify Athrogate _and_ track the woman both. On the one hand, Felicia held a far greater promise of profit than the dwarf. Provided she was still alive, of course. On the other was Athrogate's loyalty and overall capability. Jarlaxle knew the dwarf was an asset in this place, despite his current state, whereas Felicia was a wild card on all those issues.

The uncertainties that lay before him this time were far less preferable, but he had been through worse. He knew the wand that the princess had given him had the ability to petrify creatures, which might suggest that the other one, the one that she'd kept, had the power to undo such things. Even if it didn't, she was a sorceress, and might know the spell that would save Athrogate. While he hardly knew her, she seemed more benevolent than the mages of his own people. If he just played his cards right, he might get the dwarf restored for free. Finding Felicia would be tricky, of course, but he was underground in darkness, which was his element, and he had the power of invisibility in his repertoire. He could still make this work, he just had to be clever. In other words, it would work.

Feeling his confidence return, the drow gave the statue of Athrogate one last look before he grabbed his wand of invisibility. He would save his friend and they would profit. This he told himself twice before activating the wand and going back the way he came.

 

* * *

 

She'd expected to hit rocks and boulders and become a pile of mush against the rock floor or debris, whatever was down there. Instead she'd bounced off several beholders, one after another, much to their and her surprise. She'd eventually landed on a really big one, one that didn't have eye stalks, and all the other beholders moved in for the kill before she could say hello. Apparently they were content to sacrifice their own kin in their desire to destroy her.

Not the case. As it turned out, the rays had no effect on the big beholder. Felicia absorbed the magic easily and fired right back all the same, burning the beholders with one blast after another. Dying screams and the scent of burnt flesh filled the cave and the temperature in the cavern rose quickly. Blue-white flames mixed in with beholders and created a fiery hot blur of colours. Sweat ran down her face, back and other places that high-born ladies never spoke of in public. Below her, the big beholder screamed in agony even though it was unharmed.

Felicia moved as quickly as she could, not waiting for any of them to get close enough to unleash the anti-magic power of their central eyes on her. She counted over a dozen of the things, and more would probably show up. Her stomach twisted into knots from the sound of the big beholder's wails, because it was apparent that they were made for its dying kin. Usually she could shut down her emotions when in a dangerous situation, but the sound of someone's pain for a dying or dead loved one always slipped past her defences and made her heart ache. Despite what her father had said, she wasn't cut out for fighting.

On the other hand, she couldn't lie down and die, either. More beholders attacked, enraged, and her only solution was to absorb their rays and burn them. Her knees shook, however, and as the big beholder continued to wail did tears start running down her cheeks. She gritted her teeth and strove to stay on her path, but her emotions made concentrating difficult. The pursuing beholders came swooping down upon her from above, rays firing and generating more spellfire.

She gritted her teeth and, as the last of the beholders floating around her collapsed, dead, she jumped off the biggest one. Spinning in mid-air, she shot forth more spellfire at it, striking it with ease and noticing that its central eye was closed. It howled in pain of a different kind, but that wasn't the sorceress' concern. Without eye stalks, she realised, the creature had to open its central eye to see her. Felicia focused her blue-white flames on the eye just as she landed on a dead beholder.

A brief interruption in her firepower took place as she struggled to maintain her balance. It took longer than she would have liked, however, and she fully expected more rays to shoot at her or even some central eyes to open and nullify her powers. Instead the big beholder did something most unexpected.

“Stop, you fools!” The voice of the creature was alien and deep and resonated throughout the cavern. Felicia looked up to see the pursuing beholders stop and look back and forth between each other and their bigger kin with their eye stalks. The flames licking Felicia's fingers went out. Were they actually willing to talk to her? “Can't you see she's going to kill us all if we keep on attacking?” Felicia expected negotiations would be difficult, but at least they were talking. Then the big beholder said something that stumped her completely. “It's just as we were warned. Every word was true.”

“Warned by whom?” The question rushed out past her lips before she could stop herself.

The big beholder sniffed the air. “What are you? Human?”

“Yes,” Felicia responded quickly. It seemed she'd fully destroyed the creature's eye, or it would no doubt have opened it by now.

“The one who warned us looked human, sounded human and smelt human,” the beholder went on, “but felt far more powerful. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin. She felt like a demon lord in power, no, even more so. But not evil like a demon, she said she's the type to punish those. She also said you would come and bring fire that we couldn't resist. That you would destroy our entire hive if you attacked us, but if we brokered a truce with you, we would survive.”

“What truce do you have in mind?” She stepped off the dead beholder and on to a small bit of ground not covered by charred flesh, though she still kept her distance.

“Something dark and terrible has killed some of our kind already,” the monster went on. “That was why we were on edge and attacked you without checking first.”

Felicia accepted this with a nod. She knew all too well the fatal and tragic consequences that misunderstandings could bring and, seeing as she'd been party to that on more than one occasion, making a fuss out of it would be pointless. “Understood. Do go on.”

“Normally we would suggest we simply stay out of each other's way,” the beast went on, “but seeing as most of our hive is dead, we'll have to up the scales on both sides.”

A sinking feeling settled in Felicia's stomach. “Does it have anything to do with this dark and terrible something you mentioned?”

The beholder was quiet for a split second longer than expected. “Yes. His magic is strange and alien to us, but he spoke of Netherese treasures. The woman who spoke of you said that you're Netherese and know a spell that lets you fight him.”

Felicia blinked. This was new to her. She couldn't remember knowing a spell that useful. Then again, she'd forgotten a lot due to her amnesia. “It could very well be, but I suffer from-”

“Amnesia,” the monster finished for her. “She told us that as well. The golden key will restore that spell, as well as give you the guidance you need to find your inheritance. Do you have that key on you?”

“No,” she confessed. It could have been destroyed in Jarlaxle's fight with the beholder for all she knew. “But even if I did, what do you offer in exchange for my aid?”

A grin grew on the creature's lips. “We know the location of the other keys.”

There was a pregnant pause. Nothing in the monster's voice or demeanour suggested it was lying. “I'll be back once I've found the golden key.” She turned to leave.

“Actually,” the beholder cut in, “I have a better idea.”


	8. Her father's daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings occur, even to the best of us. What happens when this includes dangerous creatures and what is that stench coming further down the tunnel? Let's hope the scavengers are okay with a barbeque.

“Why do you fight?” The question rang out as clear as sunshine, and for the umpteenth time came the predictable reply.

“For the empire, Your Grace.”

“And what does that mean to you?” she continued. Statistically, she was most likely to get 'I don't know' as her answer. Her father had a talent for sending her warriors that never contemplated their profession.

There was a slight pause. “Respect from my peers, Your Grace.” That was the second most likely answer. 'Respect' that was earned, she'd witnessed on several occasions, by beating the stuffing out of women and children and taking fathers away from their families. When she asked them what was more important to them – having a sword in their hand or being respected, they didn't seem to understand the question. It was as if, to them, the two went together like sunshine and a blue sky.

“Do you think respect should be given or earned?” was the next question.

Again there was a pause and she noticed his eyes actually went back and forth a bit. Apparently his 'peers' hadn't prepared him for this question. Then again, she made a point out of creating new ones for each round of interviews. “Earned, Your Grace.” His face broke into a smile and he nodded, as if he was certain with himself that he had arrived at the right answer.

“How would I earn your respect, then?” she pressed. His smile died down and he immediately began to stammer. The helmet he held in his hand fell to the ground and he started to mutter an apology. “I'm not asking you to apologise. Stand straight, you've broken no laws nor have you committed an offense.”

Relief flooded over his face and he straightened, before seemingly thinking better of it, and bent down to pick up his helmet. Felicia felt bad for him – she could easily see in his eyes a good man with a good heart who no doubt simply wished to protect his loved ones. Like so many others who had taken up the warrior's profession, however, it seemed he hadn't fully understood what it meant in practice.

“How would I earn your respect?” she repeated.

“Your Grace already has it, of course,” he explained, “simply by being Your Grace.”

“Your Loross is a little awkward in places,” she remarked. “Are you from the surface?”

He stiffened slightly and the corners of his mouth took a bit of a downturn, but he nodded all the same. “Yes, Your Grace. A small village on land still fertile, Jannath protect us all.”

Very much a family man. Farmer background, strong body. No doubt he'd worked harder than the noble-born soldiers to prove his worth. Judging from his reaction to her question, he'd no doubt been treated unfavourably due to his heritage.

However skilled he was, it was easier to imagine him home, on the surface. That was where he should be, with people that loved him. Not up in some flying city serving an uncaring, perfumed lord arcanist with a stick up his ass. “Why do you seek to serve among my personal guards when you have loved ones back home? Do you not miss them?”

Surprise and a bit of pain slipped into his eyes, but to his credit he managed to answer the question. “I think about them every day, Your Grace. But it is for their sake that I wish to serve you.”

She hid her smile at his first comment, but her surprise slipped through when she heard the second one. “I thought it was for the empire.”

“The empire is an extension of my loved ones, as far as I'm concerned,” came his response. “Your Grace.”

“Why me?” It was her last question, and his response would decide whether or not she accepted him.

There was only a slight hesitation. “Because you're right, Your Grace. About the overuse of magic. What good does it do a farm boy like me to serve a lord or lady who thinks more magic use is the solution when it results in our lands going dry and our cattle dying?” He paused. Her eyes widened. While he might not have contemplated fully what being a warrior meant, he'd most certainly put a lot of thought into the politics that ran this empire. “We just want it to stop, so we can go back, rebuild and feed our people once more. There seems to be only a handful of lords and ladies that agree with you, Your Grace, some of whom have had _fatal_ accidents lately. I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen to you.”

The corner of her lip turned up ever so slightly. “Well, it's good to know I have loyal men like you to protect me from faulty ladders and mosquito bites.” She nodded in the direction of the wooden door that led to the armoury. “Go don your cloak, good Sir Knight. You'll take your vows before my father at the end of this tenday.”

A smile lit up his face and showed just what a wonderful father he would make one day. “Yes, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace.” He made to leave.

She smiled as well. “Make sure you maintain the simpleton act, too. You don't want anyone in court suspecting that you have political thoughts in your head.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, but to his credit he kept his back turned. “No, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.” Then he opened the door and left.

Felicia was pleased. She had gained her nine faithful warriors, none of whom liked the lords that wasted their time plotting and scheming against each other, and all of whom had enough love and compassion to balance out the eagerness of their sword-arms. It would send the message that her father had so insisted she send to the rest of the court, but it had been on her terms. Almost all of it had been on her terms.

Now what she needed was someone to lead this group of rambunctious, self-aware men. She tapped her chin with the feather on her quill. It was always the most difficult task that came last.

Well, that and living with an undead father.

 

* * *

 

Jarlaxle found the cavern network of the beholders easily enough, but he was surprised to find them so... vacant. Some corpses lay strewn about, with deep cuts in their round forms, but some were like the human bodies on the first layer, with no outward wounds on their skin. Had the Shade killed beholders, too? The one he and Entreri met hadn't seemed that powerful.

He slipped quietly through the cavern, found it met up with yet another – typical beholder hive – and was about to step into it when the most unexpected thing occurred.

A hive mother – a badly burnt one at that – came flying straight towards him, two regular beholders following suit. He was invisible, so none of them could see him, but that wasn't his main concern. Sitting on top of the hive mother, on her lower legs, was Felicia.

Hundreds of thoughts clashed inside his head even as he stepped aside so the monsters wouldn't bump into him. It seemed the princess had teamed up with the beholders, as unlikely a scenario as that seemed. Had this been her plan all along? Was this the form her betrayal would take? She'd led them into the beholder caves to get rid of them so she could take their items for herself? It was chillingly logical and it was such a damn shame, too, considering the circumstances. Then again, little Miss Princess probably figured she'd need everything she could get her hands on.

On the other hand, he'd never heard of eye tyrants teaming up with anyone outside their race, let alone their hive – they fought among themselves the most! Only intimidation with crushingly advantageous terms could convince them not to kill each other, let alone outsiders. While Felicia was a capable enough sorceress, it was an exceedingly rare thing for any mage to threaten a hive mother and two beholders into her service. Unless the beholders had struck up a deal with her so they could get a hold of his and the dwarf's items. Considering the immense powers of these creatures, however, it made no sense for them to bring Felicia along, and something about the hive mother's burns bothered him.

Curiosity welled up inside him. If he continued in the direction that Felicia had come from, it was very likely that he could get an idea of what had happened to convince these monsters to work with her. On the other hand, if it turned out to be betrayal, which seemed very likely, then that meant Athrogate was in real danger. As a statue he could be restored, but if that statue was shattered then Jarlaxle would have a hard time putting him back together.

Then again, whatever hold she had over the beholders suggested she was more than she seemed. If he went up against her without at least an idea of what she was capable of, he wouldn't be at full advantage.

Yet again he chose to leave a friend behind. It was becoming a bad habit, but so was not knowing his enemies.

He moved as quickly as he dared down the tunnel, but it didn't take him long to reach the site of the battle between eye tyrants and princess. His skin met with residue heat in the cavern first, followed closely by the smell of burnt flesh. Even before his eyes took in the sight of all the corpses did he begin to gain an understanding of this woman's power. Despite that knowledge building up inside him, a sense of apprehension came over him when he finally took it all in. Dozens of beholders lay dead, some of them on top of each other, all of them badly burnt.

Jarlaxle was pretty sure not even _he_ could accomplish such a feat, not single-handedly anyway. Perhaps Gromph, the archmage, could destroy a good number of beholders, but this many would be stretching it, even for him. Just what was Felicia made of? She seemed human enough, and he had no reason to believe otherwise. While she was the daughter of one of the most powerful wizards to have ever lived, to be able to accomplish such destruction put her on par with – and he hated to think of it – some deity's Chosen. Was she one of the Seven Sisters in disguise or an agent working for them? Perhaps she had lied about being Karsus' daughter all along. He'd heard something about “those who harp” and how many of them had quite the acting skills.

No, the circumstances and everything that had happened during their trek so far discounted such things. Unless Mystra's Chosen had taken an interest in _him_ specifically? Then again, with two of them living in Waterdeep, they had been only a teleportation away from visiting him during the months he'd spent there. This was a very long way around just to say 'hello', especially since Jarlaxle hadn't done anything to make himself stand out in the City of Splendours – yet.

Then there was the fact that, if Felicia really was a Harper, she probably wouldn't be so sloppy in covering up her tracks. Not that she seemed to be the bragging type, in fact it could very well be that she withheld information about her powers out of simple practicality. It was a habit of Jarlaxle's as well, after all. The mystery of his resourcefulness was what kept his mercenaries on their toes.

Did this mean _she_ was keeping _him_ on his toes? The irony of it didn't go past him unnoticed. Such power dynamics had to be shifted back in his favour, clearly, especially in light of recent events. He started listing all the tricks he had available to him as he made his way back, stopping only when he reached the corpses of the beholders that the Shade had possibly killed. A part of his mind poked at him, but he was unable to grasp it into thought. He stood still, feeling temporarily confused as he tried to take form of this strange thing that was bugging him, but then it disappeared. Realising that his invisibility was gone, he re-activated the power in his wand and sneaked back up to where Athrogate was waiting.

 

* * *

 

Unaware of the danger approaching, Felicia did her best to guide the hive mother back to where she guessed Jarlaxle and Athrogate were. Hopefully neither of them were dead or had become statues. Well, the latter she had a solution for, at least. If in a bad state, she told herself, it was better that they be statues than dead.

The climb was slow, even with the floating magic of the beholders pushing them along. Felicia had pondered offering the hive mother some measure of healing magic, but it could very well result in the creature turning on her. She didn't believe for a second that creatures so willing to commit violent attacks on strangers were in any way, shape or form trustworthy beyond a sharing of immediate goals. If she could find her companions, however, then she might stand a chance for when the inevitable betrayal happened.

One such dark figure appeared just as the hive mother flew her over a pile of rocks. Short and massive build, it could only be a dwarf. Felicia called out, but not only was there no response, but Athrogate stood completely still. She noticed a couple of dead beholders lay next to him. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened.

“One second, I need to go help him,” she told the beholders and slid off the hive mother before she could object. Felicia then took some slow, tentative steps in the warrior's direction.

The ground beneath her feet was mostly rubble and there was no telling from sight which stones were stable. It became a path of trial and error – mostly error – until she finally stood before him.

She grabbed the wand on her belt. Statue Athrogate would become regular Athrogate soon enough, and hopefully he knew where Jarlaxle was.

When she pointed the wand at him and opened her mouth to utter the command word, however, no sound came past her lips. Confusion welled up inside her, although she knew a _silence_ spell when it hit her. Who would do that to her, though? Surely the beholders didn't possess such powers. Had the Shade returned?

She couldn't hear anything while under the effects of such a spell. Putting the wand back on her belt to keep it safe, she then absorbed the magic she was under. Something slapped against her skin when she did, like the strike of a whip, and fell to the ground around her feet shortly after. She looked down to see a very familiar rope that she knew was enchanted and belonged to Jarlaxle.

The beholders were above her next, rays shooting forth in the direction that the rope had come from. At first there was nothing, but that did nothing to deter the creatures as they then fired their rays in the surrounding area, even floated off in the direction they believed the assailant had gone. It didn't take long before the dark elf came into full view. He wore the look of someone with the intent to kill, and that was all she could take in before he tossed something at one of the eye tyrants. A ray shot forth to meet it, but that resulted in an explosion that shook the underground level and brought out a pained howl from the thing. The trembling also sent her to her knees.

Felicia looked at the rope on the ground. Like with spells, she could also absorb the magical power in items, whether they be potions or great, magical artefacts. That rope had targeted _her_ , suggesting that the drow had tried to take her captive. Why would he do that, especially when she was in the middle of restoring his companion? Did he prefer Athrogate as a statue?

She had a nagging suspicion that a misunderstanding had taken place, one that would have deadly consequences if she didn't act. Grabbing the wand on her belt, she pointed it at Athrogate. A shout of 'no' sounded from Jarlaxle, but she ignored it and uttered the command word. Slowly but surely did stone turn back to flesh.

“Hold your breath until you feel your lungs are back to normal,” she instructed the dwarf once his ears were back to their meaty selves, and she made sure her words were loud enough for Jarlaxle to hear. “Jarlaxle, stop! There's been a misunderstanding! We need to talk!” The reply was silence, followed up by another explosion. “Hive mother, please instruct your kin to stand down.” She turned around to look at the burnt eye tyrant. The creature opened her mouth to speak only for her face to get locked in that expression.

A sight that Felicia had seen only once before, of dark shadows twisting in unnatural patterns, surrounded the hive mother. If the sorceress was to describe it, it looked like heatless, black smoke billowing beneath it, seemingly harmless. She'd seen that same smoke before, and it had killed the archaeologists that had tried to help her. Felicia felt a knot form in her stomach and her blood froze. Despair washed over her and she would have run if her legs hadn't chosen that particular moment to remain stuck. Materialising out of the shadows came a man in finely crafted armour and a sword on his hip, one hand held up against the dying beholder, the magical smoke emanating from it.

“Your Highness,” said the Shade, his voice colder than winter frost. His red eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, yet they possessed no warmth or compassion. She would liken it to some of the soldiers back in ancient Netheril if it hadn't been for the blatantly _foul_ aura that he radiated on top of all the other things that were wrong with him. Despite the medusa's words about him being Netherese, there was nothing about this man that was even remotely human any more.

Felicia had known fear in her life. When she had first come to realise that her father was a lich, basically a spellcasting horror from beyond the grave, not long after arriving in Eileanar at that, and felt that unnatural aura of his had she been physically ill. Lilith, a demon on par with Demogorgon, had practically loomed over her shoulders as a constant reminder of her powerlessness. The court of arcanists was about as safe as a battlefield, except you never knew from where the dagger would strike. Not unless you were perceptive enough to see it coming and resourceful enough to defeat your would-be attacker.

She was both perceptive and resourceful. Along with her sisters had she stood up to the most powerful wizards the world had ever seen. The libraries had been revolutionised in no small part due to the influence of her and her allies. Those same people had also assisted her in trying to end slavery and reduce the overly gluttonous use of magic. She had faced her fears and fought hard to overcome them.

Now, in the presence of this Shade, she couldn't even find the courage to speak.

He continued talking. “I've come to take you home, Your Highness. Do not resist me like you did last time, or your new companions will perish as well.”

Despite her rebellious and stubborn nature, a part of her knew that he possessed that power. He had just single-handedly killed the most powerful type of beholder there was. A dozen mages and many more warriors had been unable to defeat him. Also, unlike her, he didn't hesitate to kill.

He held his hand out to her. It was probably the best offer of peace that she was likely to get from someone like him. She didn't want more people dying because of her – Lilith's words to her about Netheril's fall still rang loudly in her mind. While it had been caused by her father, he had done so only out of desperation because _she_ had refused to be his weapon. She had indirectly caused the destruction of her home and the deaths of countless people. If she didn't comply with this Shade, probably more would die.

“Surely that's no way to talk to a princess.” Jarlaxle's voice cut through her haze of fear and despair. Both she and the Shade turned in the direction of the voice and saw the drow astride the last beholder, rays already shooting straight at the man. They struck him directly and pierced through his chest. Instead of going down like a mortal man would, his form melted into a dark pool that spilled out on the ground before disintegrating.

“It's his shadow!” hissed the beholder. “I saw him do that once before! The real one is somewhere else!” A long, sharp, black spike thrust shot forth from the ground, faster than any of them could anticipate, and pierced through the creature, only barely missing its central eye. It howled in pain and Jarlaxle threw himself forward as more spikes came at both him and the eye tyrant. To their credit, they managed to avoid those, although the beholder was bleeding profusely.

Felicia reacted instinctively, rushing forward and using what magic she'd absorbed for the second usage of her unique power – healing. She crouched next to the fallen aberration and placed her hands on it. Warm, soothing, bright light shone from her hands and she spoke to it with a firm, but gentle command. “Stay with us.” The healing was only minor, but it managed to stop the bleeding, at least, and the beholder stirred.

Behind the spikes sounded the same voice from before. “Don't meddle in Netherese affairs, drow. The princess is coming with me.”

Her stubborn streak flared up, along with good, old-fashioned defiance. She was reminded of the words that had been whispered to her when she prayed for spells for the first time. _Silver is the soft, pale glow that pierces through oppression and leads to freedom_. Whether intentionally or not, Jarlaxle and the beholder had reminded her of the teachings of her goddess. She'd made a vow in her deity's temple, a promise to herself as much as the rest of the world. As such, the Shade's terms were unacceptable. There was no going back to an empire that was now nothing but ruins. All she could do was go forward. If he tried to stand in her way, then she would remove him by whatever means necessary.

She rose to her feet and met the mockery of a Netherese man and his cold gaze directly. “My _name_ is Felicia Helenus, daughter of Karsus and Silianna Helenus. Netheril is... gone and my home is where I make it so. However, I will _not_ be making it with _you_.” Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set as she openly glared at the Shade. “Begone from this place and never seek me again, or I will give you a _thorough_ , up-close and _personal_ demonstration as to why doing otherwise is a bad idea.” Self-defence was one thing, but now she was _angry_.

“You are your father's daughter,” the Shade remarked.

“You've no idea,” she warned. Behind her, she felt something being pressed into her hand. She looked down to see a golden key. Not wasting time, she closed her eyes and activated its magic even as the Shade started casting another spell. She sensed magic being discharged to her left and heard the beholder cry out about something not working, but already she was lost in memories.


	9. One Weave, two Weaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is nifty with a bit of spellfire, but does it apply to the Shadow Weave? One Shade can be pesky, but what if there's more?

“I didn't learn this spell from any of my tutors,” she remarked and sent her father a questioning look, “nor from any of the books that you provided me.”

If Karsus had heard her, he didn't show it. Like with every other time he summoned her to his laboratory, he was fully engrossed with his studies and barely paid her any heed. “What spell?” he managed to ask all the same.

“ _Rend Shadow Weave_.” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don't even know what the Shadow Weave is.”

“Something Lord Shadow studied,” he remarked off-handedly.

Her confusion magnified. “Don't you mean 'studies'? I met him when Lilith first brought me here.”

His nose remained buried in books. “That was an illusion. I meant to gauge your reaction to seeing him and what your impression of him would be had you actually met him in real life.”

She frowned. “It wasn't a pleasant first impression.”

This time he actually put his pen down. “Nor was it for me.”

“Yet you sponsored his project,” it was her time to remark.

“He was a brilliant wizard and had many good ideas,” he explained, though something in those dead eyes of his held a sense of... concern. “I think among his goals was a desire to discover a magic that could defeat the phaerimm.”

“I can't imagine any Weave-fuelled spell that can bypass their protections,” she mused and then considered the name of her unusual spell once more. “Is that what the Shadow Weave is? Another source of magic that can get past their magical wards and protections?”

“And ours,” he supplied and she immediately caught on. “That's why you know that spell.”

“Did you give it to me?” she pressed. He didn't answer which, in her experience, was a 'yes'. “You think Lord Shadow will betray Netheril?”

There was only the slightest pause before he answered. “He has set in motion a plan that he thinks no-one but himself knows the steps of. Your mother knew what that plan would result in, however, which is why I researched the spell you now know.”

Her eyes went to the strange egg-like device that had a smaller pocket inside it. He still hadn't told her what that was for. “You claim to have a solution to the phaerimm threat.” He didn't answer. “If you do, why can't I leave and rejoin my sisters?”

“Because all plans may go wrong,” he said cryptically. “I need to make sure that you'll be... safe. I don't want another case of you getting kidnapped.”

She raised an eyebrow at that remark. “I handled that quite well, though.”

“By burning down a cottage and terrifying the locals?” he shot back sarcastically. “Oh yes, wonderfully.”

A nonchalant shrug was her only response to that. It hadn't even been her fire that had done it. “What do you expect me to do should this plan of yours fail?” Whatever it was he was planning.

He'd picked up his pen, but at this point his entire form froze. “I've left instructions.” Then he went back to writing.

Of course he had. That man never answered anything if he could write it down, seal away the content with powerful magic that impressed even Lilith and let only a few, select people read it. “Where may I find these instructions?”

“You will know when the time comes,” he said cryptically.

“That sort of talk is better reserved to deities,” she remarked dryly. There was a slight pause in his movements, but that was the only sign of a reaction from him. “Do my sisters have similar instructions awaiting them?”

“As well as your nieces and nephews,” he replied affirmatively. That was an unusual length for him to go to. Concern – a feeling she'd never thought would strike her where Karsus was concerned – welled up inside her.

“Could this plan of yours kill you?” she asked before she could stop herself.

There was a slight hesitation before he replied. “I'm already dead.” Her concern tied itself into a knot, but then the enchanted bell over the doorway tolled and she knew she had to leave. She watched the back of her father, bent over his desk, his gnarled, undead fingers moving as he wrote on some parchment.

It was the last time she ever saw him.

 

* * *

 

Felicia came to, roughly, and found herself lying flat on the ground, surrounded by darkness. An explosion shook the cavern and small rocks flew straight over her head. Somewhere Athrogate roared with laughter. An eye stalk peered down at her.

“Good, you're awake,” said the beholder, now looking much better than last time she'd seen him. It. She wasn't sure if they operated with genders, apart from hive mothers. She decided to focus on more important matters before a headache could form. “Your friends are fighting the Shade as we speak. Do you remember your spell?”

She blinked and tried sorting out her thoughts. It had taken a while after she'd activated her silver key, so she wasn't surprised to find her mind working at a snail's pace. The golden one had had a much stronger impact on her overall, though. A groan escaped her lips as she sat up, her body sore from lying on the ground, but at least she could move. “How long was I out?”

“A few minutes only,” the aberration informed her. “Your friends are capable, but they will need you soon. Not even the drow's natural spell resistance is of much use against the Shade's magic.”

That was a lot of information to take in about dark elves and Shadow Weave magic at once, but she stored it in the back of her mind for later use all the same. Little by little, like a fog clearing on an early spring morning, did her mind fully grasp the spell that her father had granted her. It wasn't even that powerful of a spell – on par with her _lightning bolt_ – but the effect of it would be devastating to their enemy.

“This way,” the beholder said during a particularly loud confrontation between the Shade and what could only be Jarlaxle's magic. Unnatural shadows met flashing light and static charge, and then things turned quiet. Felicia followed the eye tyrant dutifully, moving as fast as she dared past some boulders, down a short, winding path, and then she sneaked up quietly behind another large rock. She peered out to see the booted legs of the Shade, suggesting that he was actually sitting right in front of her. Probably planning his next move, she figured. Jarlaxle no doubt kept him busy – she had seen what she suspected was only a fraction of the things he was capable of – and so she should be able to cast her spell from her position the next time the pair clashed. Hopefully it would be a loud confrontation as she had yet to learn how to cast her spells silently.

The confrontation never came. Instead the darkness around her twisted and turned, almost as if she was hungover after a night of drinking with one of her alcohol-loving sisters. Her stomach twisted and turned with what seemed like the dismantling of reality and she stumbled as she tried to get up.

Next she saw the Shade before her and heard a shout of alarm from the beholder. A loud ringing sounded in her ears and her body was racked with pain. She clutched her head even as the Shade fizzled out and distorted eye stalks came into view. Whatever was happening to her, she suspected her fellow Netherese was behind it. Focusing her mind was extremely difficult, but she had managed under worse circumstances. She cast a spell that would undo such things, a rather powerful version of it, in fact, successfully getting through each part.

It didn't work.

Another wave of pain washed over her and she fell to the ground, confusion mixing with the torment. She tried to absorb the magic the way she had the beholder rays, but nothing happened. Fighting took place around her, which only magnified the painful noises. She did throw up then, coughing up the first bit of food she'd eaten in over a thousand years. Stinging pain hit her in the stomach as she did so, and then the Shade towered above her once more.

“Daughter of Karsus or no, the Shadow Weave will always prove superior,” he boasted, “and now you know the price for defiance, _Felicia_.” He leaned down, his hand reaching for her. She tried pulling back but found she only had strength to move her hands temporarily out of his reach. The Shade frowned at her pathetic display of resistance before reaching for her again. He didn't get any closer, however, as he jerked back all of a sudden. Strange choking sounds came from his lips and blood ran down his breastplate. She looked up to see the sharp end of a rapier sticking out of his throat.

Jarlaxle let out a disapproving 'tsk'. “Using force on a lady is behaviour unbecoming a gentleman.” Then the rapier's pointy end moved to the side, bursting open an artery in so doing which spilled out even more blood. The Shade coughed and sputtered before falling to the side. He landed right in front of her, blood pooling out beneath him.

The drow was by her side next, but the pain made her unable to move, let alone talk. “I saw you cast a spell to undo this earlier,” he said gently, and his words registered despite the spell she was under. “Try it again. Sometimes you simply need a second attempt to make it work.”

She cast her spell a second time. For the second time it didn't work. Pain racked her again, but she managed to cast it a third time. Third was the charm. The world stopped moving around in unnatural ways and sounds became normal once more. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and then she felt a hand on her back. The other hand held a magical orb that lit up upon its activation, and then the pain was gone. She immediately breathed easier and she looked up to see Jarlaxle give her an affirmative nod.

He cleared his throat, suddenly looking displeased about something. “Next time I expect you to give me a warning when you team up with beholders. They're not known for being friendly, after all.”

“Neither are drow,” remarked the eye tyrant dryly. A laugh tried to force its way out of Felicia's throat, but it resulted in a cough that had her entire form spasm. Some giggles managed to escape, however, but she continued to cough for a while longer.

“In my defence I don't know anything about either of your races,” she managed to say once the worst of the coughing was over.

“That's not really a defence,” Jarlaxle countered.

She shrugged. “It's all about resources and opportunities, I suppose.”

“Didn't you meet any of my surface cousins even once or study among them?”

“I spent some months in Evereska,” she confessed, “but that was mostly in regard to my studies on star elves, of which there was very little material.”

A frown came to the drow's face, but it disappeared quickly. “I shall have to supply you with some books on the topic of Underdark races, then.”

She smiled. “That would be helpful.”

He shared her smile for a whole second before he seemed to remember something. “Can you get up?”

In response she tried to move and found that her limbs, while a little shaky, were still functional. They got back up, her shirt stained with vomit and the stink of it hitting her nostrils. Great, it would take a while before she got that washed off.

Jarlaxle gave the corpse of the Shade a nudge with his foot and then looked at her. “Pray tell, apart from my skin colour, what made you think I was the same as this Shade? Clearly we have many differences, hair colour being one of them.”

Felicia shrugged. “You don't have any hair on your head, so how was I supposed to know?”

An unimpressed look came to his face. “I believe my eyebrows might have been a strong indicator.”

“I wasn't studying you _that_ intently,” she countered.

A sly grin formed on his face. “But you _were_ studying me.”

“Of course,” she quipped. “It's not every day I come across someone who wears a rainbow cape.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then it seemed her full response kicked in because no words came out and instead he simply stared at her with an expression that alternated between amused and dismayed, almost as if he couldn't quite believe he'd been bested. Felicia counted it as a victory all the same. He confirmed this when his face broke into a smile and he tipped his hat to her. Apparently he appreciated good verbal interaction. That was a refreshing change from being threatened with bodily harm or even murder among the humourless nobles of Eileanar.

“This isn't the right one,” the beholder remarked as it and Athrogate rejoined them. “The one who killed our kin had longer hair and his face was completely different. He was shorter, too, and fat.”

Felicia's good mood disappeared like an arcanist's morals after gaining political power. “You mean there's more than one?”

“That's what we thought.” A distressed look came to the eye tyrant's face.

Athrogate scratched his chin. “Will he be lookin' fer that one?”

“Perhaps,” Jarlaxle mused, “unless he's occupied with other things and simply sent this one to play fetch.”

“How much deeper do these ruins go?” the princess asked the beholder.

“One more layer,” the beast explained. “That's where your keys are, although it's possible that the other Shade is there as well.”

“What makes you say that?” she pressed.

“It's where the attacks came from,” it replied. “We thought we could lure out the Shade with your help, but if there's more than one, then I'm not sure how you can get to your memories or I survive.”

“You can always make new memories,” Jarlaxle suggested to the woman.

“The keys will also lead me to the treasure that my father allegedly left behind,” she informed him.

“We must retrieve them at all cost,” the drow said, immediately serious.

“We don't even know if he left anything behind, let alone what,” she argued, “and knowing my father, he wouldn't have made it easy to retrieve it either.”

That didn't seem to deter Jarlaxle one bit. “Was he the type of man to not ensure the future of his offspring? He did arrange for you to avoid death, after all, and had a powerful demon guard you.”

“Keep me prisoner,” she argued sourly, but she considered Karsus' last words to her all the same. “He said he'd left _instructions_ for me, my sisters and my nieces and nephews. That doesn't necessarily mean that they suffered a fate similar to mine, though.” A part of her selfishly hoped for it all the same.

Jarlaxle touched his chin in thought. “Is he the type of man to give instructions only in the form of a scribbled note, or does he properly equip you for the job?”

“He always prepared me for whatever he needed me to do,” she explained. “I suppose it's unlikely he'd leave me with nothing, but who's to say that what he left me with is still around?” She shrugged. “A skilled and resourceful wizard could have bypassed his wards, though I don't know of any that managed to do so back when I knew him.”

“Seems risky fer some mere keys,” Athrogate remarked.

“You've gathered a good amount of information already,” Felicia went on and turned to the beholder, “and as for you, there's a group of kobolds on the third level that probably wouldn't mind your presence in exchange for your protection.”

The creature didn't look convinced. “There's no telling whether or not the Shade will attack the kobolds in his search for me.”

“Why would a Shade be so keenly interested in killing beholders?” Jarlaxle cut in, his tone curious.

“We don't know,” the beholder explained. “All we know is that some of my kin had their eyeballs removed while others were left to rot.”

“They were killed simply for the sake of the kill?” Felicia found herself unimpressed, though not surprised. Such was the arrogance of her fellow Netherese.

“And possibly some experiment or spell component,” Jarlaxle added.

“I don't recall a spell that requires beholder eyeball as an ingredient,” the sorceress said with a frown. Jarlaxle shrugged. Mages used parts of creatures for all manner of things.

“I would argue that we can't very well leave behind an enemy,” the drow cut in, bringing them back to the topic of what to do next. “While I've encountered only one Shade before this, I've heard rumours that they can be quite vengeful. They also seem intent on capturing you. Are you sure you wish to put such a threat behind you, never knowing when they will strike?”

“No, I don't,” she said truthfully. “However, going in after him might stir up a hornet's nest.”

“Then whack 'em all,” Athrogate argued, brandishing his morningstars as he spoke. “Make 'em crawl.”

“You're confident you can achieve that, even after the fight that just ended?” she countered.

“The drow ended it quite well,” the beholder remarked, a bit of praise to which Jarlaxle bowed.

“I can't counter their strange magic,” Felicia argued. “I don't even know what spell I was under just now.”

“But you can leave them powerless,” the aberration cut in. “You still have the spell, right?”

“Seven castings of it for this cycle,” she confessed, albeit hesitantly. “It's within a limited area, however, and we've already seen some of the powers that Shades possess. It could be I render the shadow powerless and then get attacked by the actual creature.”

“We'll need a good plan,” Jarlaxle mused.

The idea struck her like lightning. “The chardalyns. I can cast the spell on seven of them and then we can all carry some with us.”

“Six,” the drow argued. “Leave one casting for yourself, just in case you need it.”

“We'll need a distraction,” the eye tyrant observed. All eyes turned to Felicia.

“I might not be able to throw rocks around, then,” she remarked. As if on cue, something small, warm and furry rubbed up against her leg. She nearly jumped out of her skin in fright, but stopped herself from kicking out. Standing next to her was Lucifer, still fluffy and looking no worse for the wear.

A devilishly good idea struck her, followed up by a wave of guilt. As the feline's trusting eyes looked up at her, a knot formed in her stomach. She _couldn't_.


	10. An imminent end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When looking to succeed, does one go for intimidation or seduction? No, I'm not talking about Jarlaxle.

Her face was beautiful even as she pushed against the dark wall that made up the binding circle. Amandus Albescu observed the demon queen Lilith alternate between hissing and glaring to pouting and sending him seductive glances. None of it worked, of course. He'd been selected among all the other arcanists exactly because neither intimidation nor wily seductions had any effect on him. Still, he appreciated the aesthetics of the succubus before him, especially as she grew more frustrated the less effective her methods were.

This was why the Shadow Weave would forever be superior to the Weave. Surely no Weave user could speak of trapping someone as powerful as Lilith with minor entrapment spells only. Not that Amandus was lacking in power – but the Shadow Weave circumvented the regular rules where bindings of creatures attached to the Weave were concerned. Lilith had eluded him long enough and while the princess had regrettably escaped, she wouldn't have far to go. Furthermore, night was approaching and as such, Cyriacus should have no trouble tracking her down. He was a bit delayed in his most recent trip to the beholder caves, but the arcanist was far from worried. Fuelled by the Weave though they were, beholders were powerful even to the likes of his warrior-wizard, though no true match for him, of course. No doubt his capable servant was just thorough in his work.

The ancient succubus' red, reptilian eyes and porcelain skin were forced to show themselves under his restrictions. The creature was tricky and could alter her appearance at will, but under the power of his magic were no such illusions possible. As such, her fingers and toes were claws similar to that of bears and huge, bat-like wings stood out on her back. Her tail was visibly wrapped around her torso and her form bare, which left nothing to the imagination. From ankle to thigh, however, she was covered in white fur. Amandus hadn't believed the tales to be true, for surely such a bestial trait was unfitting for a female sex demon, but now he witnessed the undeniable fact of it first hand.

“So then,” he began, deciding to address the creature directly, “now that you have nowhere else to go, we begin the game of patience.” She shot him a bored look. “You may be immortal, demon, but so am I.” A slight raise of her eyebrow, but she didn't contest it. That meant his bluff had gone through. “I did indeed start out human, but as the centuries have passed, I too have learned the patience that your kind is known for. You will stay down here until you decide to tell me two things.”

“What?” she asked, her voice echoing with sheer force despite her bindings, a testament to the power of this being.

“Karsus' plans for Felicia,” he said. “Let's start with that.”

“No dinner first?” Lilith shot back with a fake pout. Dark tendrils shot forth through her form, sprouting out of her nose, mouth and ears and suffocating any screams of pain she would have made. The suffering was obvious in her eyes, however, which had widened and reddened further. Her powerful form trembled from the physical torment that went through her body, held aloft in the air not by any effort on her part. Amandus took great joy in what he did, not only because it was necessary. Such were the ways of Thultanthar.

As the darkness receded from the demon, she crashed to the ground, coughing and sputtering before throwing the usual curses and threats his way. Amandus found solace in the knowledge that Shar's punishments would be far worse should he fail her and thus remained unaffected.

“It's not even my most powerful spell,” he informed her some seconds into her tirade, which put an effective end to it, “yet it could defeat your inborn spell resistance and demonic resilience with ease. Shall I try another?”

“Your previous spell merely tickled,” she spat.

He shot her a bemused look, and while he gave her credit for maintaining her defiance, he had his goals to accomplish and such stubbornness was only in the way. Another of his spells struck, this one psychological, and while there was no scream, not even a change in her expression, her teeth gritted and sweat broke out on her brow. Clearly she was fighting it off with all she had.

Unfortunately for her, spells targeting the mind were a Shadow Weave speciality. Soon enough the veins on her beautiful face became visible, her hair was on edge and her entire form trembled. She got stuck in her slightly upright position on the ground until her body was ridden with violent spasms. Amandus waited a few more minutes before he saw fit to end the spell – deception was one of the greatest skills of her kind, after all – and she collapsed in a heap. She didn't get up again from where she lay, however. He could tell she was breathing from the movement of her back and wings, but otherwise she lay very still. The Shade waited for a reaction, and eventually she got back up again.

Thus passed the hours between them. Amandus knew it would take a lot more to force any truth out of Lilith, but he did enjoy systematically shattering her defiance. Like so many other Netherese men, he couldn't stand defiant and domineering females, regardless of race, and believed himself superior to them on the basis of his manliness alone. Where female demons were concerned, he added his magic as an additional factor, but his belief in his own superiority remained as it was. Lilith would break, thus proving once more the irrefutable laws of nature.

Steps sounded and he turned to see Cyriacus approach him. The fighter appeared no worse for the wear after fighting Shar knew how many beholders, but such was what Amandus had come to expect from him. “Night approaches soon,” the arcanist informed him. “Have you mapped out the places the princess could have gone?”

“She wandered into the desert,” Cyriacus informed him, an unhappy look on his face, “and there she perished before I could get to her.”

Amandus suddenly found himself at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbled together as he tried to make sense of these news. Felicia Helenus, albeit female, shouldn't have succumbed so easily. “Did you at least gather her corpse?”

The warrior shook his head. “There wasn't much to gather. By the time I arrived she'd been swarmed with vultures who had picked her apart.”

“Fool,” the arcanist snapped, “even her bones will suffice for a resurrection!”

“I shall gather them this night,” the fighter said with a bow and apologetic tone. “Any clerics we know with a deity willing and powerful enough to restore her?”

Amandus pondered this question. Shar was unpredictable in everything except darkness and evil, and there was no telling if she would agree to bring Felicia back to life. After all, the princess was said to have worshipped a goddess that Shar and Selûne both abhorred and avoided. Then again, having lived isolated on the Plane of Shadow most of his life, the arcanist knew only clerics of that dark religion and no-one else. Unless he considered the priests of Kronos, whom he'd met in the city of Sigil once, but praying to a Dawn Titan slumbering away on Abeir was the same as getting sucked into a void of nothingness. Furthermore, they were said to devour a piece of the soul of the person they brought back to life, which included important memories. It simply wasn't worth the price.

It seemed Shar was their best bet. “I'll ask for a priest or priestess of the Hidden One from the city. They speak of divine reverence a lot, but their loyalty inevitably lies with Shade first, and it's in the city's best interests that we recover the princess.”

“For the greatness of Shade,” Cyriacus droned, not missing a beat.

“For our return,” Amandus corrected him, though it was only a partial correction. “We must have our weapons ready to annihilate the phaerimm, and knowing Karsus, he no doubt left a lot of them behind. Felicia is our only tie to him and we must know what she knows.”

“I can save you some trouble, then,” Lilith suddenly spoke up, drawing the attention of both males. “The brat knows nothing. If you were to tell her how Netheril fell, she'd probably be shocked and surprised.”

“As if I would believe your words alone, demon,” the arcanist scoffed and sent her into another wave of pain.

“Beg pardon, My Lord,” Cyriacus spoke up, “but after you succeed in gathering the information you need from the princess, what do we do with her? Will she go free?”

“Of course not,” the wizard said with great distaste. “We can't very well have her reveal our plans prematurely to the people on the Prime.”

“A 'guest of honour', then?” the warrior pressed. He seemed surprisingly curious about Felicia, but then again, Cyriacus was one to think of every contingency of a plan, and that also included the aftermath of the main events.

“To show our finest hospitality to a female with such an unattractive personality?” Amandus' face scrunched up in disgust. Though he knew her only from reputation, she'd been a thorn in the side politically – especially for the men – during her short time in Netherese courts. “Throw her in a prison cell and let your men do with her as they please. It should teach her some proper humility.”

“I fear I find such a thing unacceptable,” the fighter said all of a sudden. Before the arcanist could react, a black stone appeared in Cyricacus' hand – a chardalyn, Amandus' logical mind managed to put together – and then he tossed it to the ground, where it shattered into thousands of tiny pieces.

 

* * *

 

The form that had been the wizard melted away into nothingness as Felicia's spell took effect. Jarlaxle had seen that before and knew what to expect, so he jumped behind some boulders to hide.

A scoff sounded from the trapped demon. “I wasn't even tortured by the real thing? How insulting.”

As always, the drow found himself most puzzled by the priorities of the denizens of the Abyss.

“Beg pardon, my dear,” the voice of the arcanist sounded throughout the cavern, bouncing off walls and rocks and effectively hiding his location, “but my spells were still at full effect, if that helps any.”

“Not really,” the succubus argued back. Her voice rang out in a fashion similar to the Shade, but it echoed with ancient power. This was no ordinary succubus, the dark elf realised later than he cared to admit. Furthermore, the demon's evil bore a striking resemblance to that of his late mother.

“Pray tell, stranger, how did you manage to best my finest servant and assume his form in a way I couldn't recognise?” the man's voice echoed. Apparently he'd decided to ignore the demon, for now. “Not to toot my own horn too much, but illusions are a bit of a speciality of mine.”

Jarlaxle put a wand against the side of his neck. “Perhaps you have a weakness against transformative magic,” he said, his voice bouncing off the walls as well. Throwing a second chardalyn at his feet, he created a dead magic zone around himself, just to prevent any Shadow Weave attacks from reaching him.

“A weakness I shall be sure to inform my colleagues of,” the Shade replied. “I thank you kindly for the information.”

“Don't thank me yet,” Jarlaxle replied and then the roaring laughter of Athrogate sounded somewhere behind the trapped demon. The drow chanced a look and spotted a swinging morningstar go out of view a little to the left of some large standing stones right behind the binding circle. Two more chardalyns shattering sounded on either side of the fiend, creating more dead magic zones, but outside the perimeter of the magic that kept the demon bound. No doubt neither beholder nor cat had any wish to free the evil entity. Jarlaxle readily agreed with such wisdom.

The dwarf's laughter drew up short, however, suggesting the wizard wasn't out of spells from his torture session, as they had first assumed. Another shattering sound came from the exact area that the Shade was, however, and a grunt that wasn't dwarven followed suit. Athrogate coughed rather loudly, but at least the sound confirmed that he was alive. The Shade appeared from behind the standing stones and the elf jumped up, ready to throw another enchanted stone at where the wizard stood. His enemy stepped up right next to the binding circle, however. Jarlaxle froze, for if he threw the stone there, he'd undo the magical bindings that kept the powerful demon trapped.

“You move far too gracefully to be human,” the Shade remarked. “What are you?”

“Someone with a very different definition of 'unattractive' when it comes to female personalities,” the drow quipped, but didn't undo his transformation.

“In that case, you should throw the chardalyn,” the demon spoke up, opportunism shining strongly in her eyes. “I guarantee you no-one would take more pleasure in tearing apart that Shade than me.”

Jarlaxle didn't move.

It was a peculiar situation to be in. The magic of the Shade couldn't reach the drow, yet the drow couldn't disarm the Shade, and in the middle of it all was a powerful demon. Athrogate was still coughing, and loudly at that, and the beholder wasn't in a position to attack the wizard, provided the treacherous thing was even still about. That basically left the cat and an unarmed Felicia. Well, somewhat unarmed.

“An elf, I assume,” the Shade continued. “What's your interest in all of this, fairy? If you and your dwarven friend are looking for treasure, there's plenty to be had in the beholder caverns.”

Jarlaxle found it more than a little ironic to be referred to by the racial slur that most drow used about their surface cousins. “I do indeed value treasure, adventure and the company of women,” he said. “You may consider me and my friend adventurers, of sorts.”

“Perhaps we can make a deal for you to fetch the bones of the princess, then,” the wizard offered. “In exchange, you shall have treasures from the city of Shade.”

It pleased Jarlaxle that the Shade had bought into that lie, at least, and he feigned curiosity. “My services are very expensive, and I can't say I care for the aftermath that you have planned for her.”

“What do you care for the fate of a stranger?” the Shade countered.

“I don't care for _rape_ ,” Jarlaxle clarified. “You may consider it a principle, however few of them I have. If you do not renege on this part, I decide she's better off dead.”

“And how will you make sure I even keep that part of the bargain?” the Shade asked, smugness written all over his face. “After all, she will be within my power to do with as I please once we're done here, and you will be too far away to have any influence.”

The succubus snorted. “You're both fools if you think having that brat under your influence is so easily accomplished.”

“I have my way of keeping tabs on people,” the dark elf argued, “and I already know one of the weaknesses of your magic, Shade.”

The smugness died away to be replaced by a defiant sneer. “I think you will find me difficult to keep tabs on, elf.”

This time it was Jarlaxle's turn to smirk. “Whoever said it would be you?”

“You won't get anywhere near her after she's been resurrected,” the Shade argued.

“You're a terrible bargainer,” the drow shot back, his annoyance with this arrogant mage growing with every second.

The Shade snapped. “I don't have to bargain! Fetch me those bones or I let Lilith loose upon the world.”

“He says that as if it's such an _original_ thing to do,” the succubus droned and rolled her eyes. “I've been on the Prime for millennia and not once did it change drastically or become completely annihilated by my hand. Not that I don't have the power to do so, of course, but I simply can't be bothered.”

So this was Lilith. Jarlaxle wasn't sure what to make of her, a demon though she was.

“I can set you free and leave this place faster than you can kill me,” the Shade threatened. “You'll be left with nothing but an elf and a dwarf to sate your destructive anger, as all demons are wont to give into.”

“All _male_ demons, perhaps,” Lilith countered and yawned. “Already you bore me so. You have no leverage over this elf and his companion, your typical Netherese arrogance is resulting in illogical and irrational behaviour on your part and you will die the fool for it.” She fixed him with her indifferent, serpentine stare. “You're not even worth the attempt at revenge.”

The Shade opened his mouth to speak just as Athrogate sneaked up behind him. Seeming to have eyes in the back of his head, the wizard leaned down quickly and placed his hand on the ground, uttering a single word. The dwarf went flying into the darkness of the cavern, sounds of one impact after another coming until finally, he seemed to have landed, although the drow figured it had been a most ungraceful impact judging from the flight. A groan sounded from Athrogate a split second later, testament to dwarven fortitude, but it didn't sound like he would get up any time soon.

The beholder was nowhere to be seen, and Jarlaxle figured the aberration had probably abandoned them to save himself. That meant he had the cat and Felicia left to assist him, and the latter really shouldn't show herself.

A shattering sound came, and far too close to the binding magic than the dark elf cared for. Both he and the Shade withdrew in instinctive fear of attack from the succubus. She rushed forth but was met with a dark, translucent wall that kept her trapped. A cry of rage came from her, but she couldn't break free of her bindings. The wizard looked confused rather than triumphant, however, but before he could make his next move did the beholder appear before him. Jarlaxle witnessed a single ray pierce the chest of the wizard and create a hole where the heart had once been. The Shade looked down with disbelief before he collapsed and landed in a very unflattering fashion on the ground, death spasms riding his body.

Relief didn't flood the drow as his innate scepticism and distrust of beholders remained, preparing him for what would be the inevitable betrayal. He thought to store his chardalyn in a pocket, all the while keeping an eye on the monster and getting ready to fire a bolt of lightning at it with the wand hidden up his sleeve. Not even the paranoid dark elf could have foreseen what happened next. Only one eye ray came at him, but it didn't strike him, rather it hit the dark stone in his hand. It was ripped from his grip by the force of the ray's telekinetic power and flew towards Lilith. Jarlaxle rushed forth to grab it, somehow resisting two of the beholder's rays before he was thrown back by the telekinetic one. He crashed into the boulder behind him, the pain of the impact shooting through his entire body and making him slump to the ground. An all too familiar shattering sound came next. Jarlaxle looked up as the demon stepped forth and could only watch as she walked past the perimeter of the circle, no dark wall stopping her this time. Her aura of power and evil grew even greater than before, and for a moment it was like being in the temple of Lolth in his home city.

“Now, beholder,” she said, “as we agreed! Kill this Lolth-worshipping piece of drow filth and his companion! After that we go in search of the brat's bones!”

The aberration came into full view, covering up the physically beautiful form of Lilith with its hideous, beastly appearance. Somehow it didn't seem like much of a change, and that thought stayed with him even as three eye stalks aimed at him and fired.


	11. Damsel, schmamsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netherese princesses are not like other princesses. Jarlaxle finds wands and beholders to be a bad mix - for the beholders.

The violent discharge of the drow's wand, now fully visible in his hand, met the rays straight on. He threw the wand in immediately afterwards as well, though with no hope it would save him. An explosion of pure magic took place as a result, colours of blue, white, purple and green going every which way and causing an enormous ruckus of noise throughout the cavern. Jarlaxle fully expected horrible burns, disintegration of his limbs or even a state of petrification. The beholder howled in pain only to grow silent, but even as the fancy display of power continued before him, the elf felt no ill effects apart from the pain from his impact with the boulder. He was far too close to the magic for this to make sense, making him wonder if he was already dead. There was a slight shift of long, white skirts and a woman's sandalled feet appeared, heels facing him, but even as he looked further up to see who it was did this vision disappear. With that the magical explosion also ended and Jarlaxle found himself looking at a partially disintegrated, partially petrified beholder lying on the ground. The half that had been turned to stone lay in parts already crumbling. He couldn't help but feel it was a fitting end to such a creature.

As for himself, he found he was no worse for the wear. In fact, his body even seemed healed from the damage done by the beholder's telekinetic toss. Not that his situation was in any way improved, of course, for now he faced a queen of demons.

“How in the Nine Hells did that happen?” she asked, apparently as puzzled as he was.

“Hells, Heavens, the Middle Planes,” Felicia's voice echoed through the caverns, “whatever works.”

“Brat!” Lilith hissed, seemingly forgotten all about the drow before her. That was how secure she felt around mere mortals. Well, apart from Karsus' daughter, it would appear, judging from how her serpentine eyes resembled that of a skittish doe. Was Lilith _afraid_ of Felicia?

If Jarlaxle had been intrigued by this human before, he was fully captivated now, especially as he found his voice-magnifying wand had gone 'missing'. Naughty! Skilled, but oh so naughty!

On top of the standing stones that Athrogate and the Shade had fought behind appeared Lucifer, although the tiny feline behaved in a most peculiar fashion. Jarlaxle wasn't all too familiar with cats – his preference lay with the bigger and deadlier ones – but it seemed the creature was in the process of vomiting. He made strange wheezing sounds and bent over, his tail hanging low. His little form trembled just as something small and dark came out of his mouth. It rolled around before settling on top of the rock, although the cat didn't seem interested in studying it. Instead he ran off to Lolth knew where.

The thing that Lucifer had coughed up didn't seem content to lie still, either. It grew in size, and fast. Lilith seemed quite fascinated with it, and while Jarlaxle did consider himself curious, he decided instead to take advantage of the demon's distraction to slip away. He climbed behind the boulders from before only to spot Felicia hiding inside the stone tunnel that Athrogate had used to surprise the wizard with. She motioned with her hand for him to follow and he did, as silently as only a dark elf could. This had to be the first time in a long time that he could hear his heartbeat pound away in his ears.

Throw in some great treasure on top of this and he'd definitely count this as one of his better adventures.

Karsus' daughter led the way through the tunnel, although they went the long way around, the drow guessing so as to not be spotted by Lilith. Athrogate met them along the way, Lucifer not far behind. Felicia rushed past them with no greeting or explanation, and the drow hesitated. Betrayal number two was surely around the corner.

The dwarf surprised him by following the princess without so much as a question. He did stop and motion for the elf to follow, and while Jarlaxle still had his doubts about the human, he knew Athrogate was eternally loyal to whomever he chose to work with or for. As a dwarf, he was also naturally suspicious of strangers, especially humans, and he was quite good at seeing through deception. Against his own paranoia, the drow decided to follow him. He did stop once as the tunnel went up and allowed him a bird's eye view of what was happening to Lilith. Felicia's voice bounced off the caverns again just as he did so, however, keeping the demon queen suitably distracted. Lilith's fists reduced boulders to rubble, but of course the princess was nowhere near the area. The black thing that Lucifer had coughed up, Jarlaxle saw, had turned out to be a chardalyn, quite possibly the biggest one he'd ever seen. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of spell was stored in there, let alone how Felicia had managed to shrink it enough for the cat to swallow it.

Their trek continued, and he noticed they were heading further up and away from the lowest level. It was a long way back to the surface, though, and surely it was only a matter of time before Lilith was able to locate them and give chase. As much as he prided himself on understanding the people around him, he found it hard to see how Felicia was going to get them out of there.

Just as the thought to go his own way struck him, she took a sharp turn to the left, Athrogate and Lucifer hot on her heels. Jarlaxle paused and glanced in the direction they'd gone. It didn't go very far and appeared a dead end, but Felicia stepped up to the wall of stone with confidence. She looked back to see the drow in his lurking spot and she waved for him to follow, more insistent this time, as if she was nagging at him. Nothing but a kind smile was on her face, however, and considering his other options weren't all that attractive, he decided to step closer.

She performed a simple hand gesture and uttered a command word. At first there was only silence, but then a blue-white swirl appeared on the rock. It grew bigger, fast, stretching and expanding until they beheld a magical _portal_ the size of a tall human man.

“I studied it earlier,” Felicia explained. “It will bring us to the surface, albeit the desert only. It's a one-way portal and will take a long time to close, but I'll be able to deal with that. Quickly now.” She motioned for them to go through.

Both dwarf and drow hesitated, but the familiar didn't. Lucifer jumped through without a second thought. No scream of pain came, although the dwarf was still the first to rush through after him.

Jarlaxle shot Felicia an expectant look. “Ladies first.”

“No, I must insist you go first,” she said, which had him hesitate, even as Athrogate informed them from the other side that it was perfectly safe to go through. “I have a way of sealing off this portal prematurely, but it will only happen as I go through it.”

“You do realise how valuable you are to the scholars of Waterdeep?” he argued. Valuable to nobles, too, for that matter.

Despite how he was very clearly speaking of monetary rewards, the princess merely smiled. “I have every reason not to be re-captured by Lilith,” she said and indicated the portal with her hand. “And I hope you realise how valuable you and Athrogate are to me?”

That sent him rocking back on his heels, for it was obvious she wasn't speaking in terms of money. Then again, she didn't want to be all alone and could use the help. It was understandable, even relatable.

“I trust you understand this goes against my usual policy,” he informed her before taking a step towards the magical doorway.

Her smile turned far too bright and beautiful than was good for him. “I'll see you on the other side.”

He shot her a look so as to suggest she'd better, but then the sound of something wet slapping against stone reached his keen ears. His sense of danger immediately kicked in and he spun around. Black tentacles, seemingly growing out of the stone itself, moved with an unnatural speed. Jarlaxle was grabbed around his leg and Felicia around the neck, but not before she was able to grab him by the shoulder and scream out a prayer. He heard the name of her deity then – Hekate – and he felt divine power surge through him. It seemed strangely familiar, though he couldn't even begin to place it. The effect was immediate as well – the tentacle wrapped around his leg fell away like a slippery bar of soap.

Felicia was hoisted into the air, however, slowly choking from the tentacle's grip. Jarlaxle reached through his belongings for a chardalyn he knew would help, but the princess was of a different mindset.

“Go!” she managed to choke out. “What I did won't... last long!”

“Come to care for this drow already, have you?” the voice of Lilith cut in and then the demon appeared behind the dark tentacles. Still naked, but without the fur, wings or tail. Her eyes were a golden colour and her horns had grown in size, but her aura was the same. “Don't worry, princess, I'll be doing you a favour killing him.” She reached out with her hand and touched three of the tentacles. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't caught by them, but they grew in size, mouths opening to reveal rows of sharp fangs. Jarlaxle had two daggers out and elongated into rapiers in no time.

“I'm not leaving without her,” he mustered the courage to say in the face of such overwhelming power, drawing a look of surprise and despair from the dangling woman.

“She's hardly as valuable as you may think,” Lilith countered. “Most of her memories are gone and so are her spells. She's not cut out for killing and no man in the world will want to buy such an educated and powerful woman for a wife. The best you'll get is the usual scholar's pittance.”

Coughing sounded from the princess and then she surprised both by prying away the tentacle enough to talk. “Don't fight those things. They're like hydras. Cut down one and-” Her words were interrupted as the tentacle strengthened its grip.

“So naughty, telling on me like that,” the succubus said with a disapproving sound. “You need to repair your taste in men, too.” She shot the dark elf a meaningful look.

In response, Jarlaxle rushed forth with his blades and cut deep – into the tentacle that held Felicia aloft. It split apart easily and down she fell, coughing and spluttering and proving she was still conscious. Dropping his swords, which would just disappear and return to his magical glove anyway, the drow caught the falling woman in his arms. Lilith sneered and forward came her dark 'hydras'. Jarlaxle didn't wait for them to reach him, however, and turned on his heel and ran. One tentacle caught up to him, but the sorceress' prayer seemed to hold true still as it couldn't grab a hold. He jumped through the portal, fully expecting the things to follow. As he stepped into the desert and spun around, however, he saw the portal was gone.

Sunlight greeted him like an old enemy, but his enchantments stayed true and kept him from getting severely weakened. He dropped to his knees and Felicia fell from his arms rather unceremoniously, getting covered by sand in the process. Lucifer jumped her almost immediately, which elicited even more coughing and wheezing from the unfortunate woman. Athrogate added to it with roaring laughter at her expense. It took a bit, but eventually she managed to regain her breath and get up on her feet. She put a hand to her throat and it lit up with healing energy even as she started walking away from the area.

“We need to get as far away from here as possible,” she managed to say without any difficulty. “Lilith has the power to bring those ruins to the surface if she wishes.”

As if on cue, the ground beneath them began to rumble. It was all around them, however, suggesting that they were right on top. Looking around, Jarlaxle managed to spot the very faraway entrance that they'd come across at the beginning of this misadventure. He rushed over to Felicia as fast as he could, thus learning of the difficulty of running in sand, closely followed by Athrogate and Lucifer. The cat jumped into the sorceress' arms and the drow then held out his hands to both human and dwarf. “It would help tremendously if you were both – all – willing to come with me.”

Silent communication took place between mage and familiar. Felicia then fixed him with a nod and Lucifer stepped over to sit on the elf's shoulder. Jarlaxle looked to Athrogate who simply grabbed his hand and nodded grimly. The mercenary then grabbed the princess' hand and less than a split second later the quartet stood at the entrance of the ruins. It had remained largely unchanged, except for the fat vultures dozing off in the sun. Their camel mounts were nowhere to be seen.

The earth continued to rumble and the pervasively evil aura of Lilith grew stronger as she got closer to the surface. Some vultures woke up and made startled noises. Ruins and boulders shot up through the sand, along with the medusae from before. They seemed to have prepared for this, however, no doubt due to some connection to the demon queen below, and hovered above it all in a translucent bubble.

A good amount of disoriented kobolds came next. They yapped about before organising into a full run away from the area they were in, though they had even worse luck running through the sand than the elf. As more of the ruins came through, they seemed even more determined to get out, jumping on top of their kin and pushing them down to get ahead. Did they sense the approaching evil or were they simply in a dumb, panicked frenzy?

Just as the beholder area started rising, however, a violent ripple went through the sand, stopping only a few meters shy of the fleeing kobolds. Something seemed to rip up the very fabric of the world they stood in and then the ruins immediately started sinking. The sand turned into a whirlpool, sucking in kobold stragglers and screaming medusae alike. Even as good of a distance away as the four of them stood, they could still feel the winds pulling at them towards the centre of the maelstrom. The carrion birds had at this point fled the scene.

The storm lasted for about twenty seconds more before it stopped. The sun continued to shine as if nothing had happened and the surviving kobolds looked about, more confused than before.

Most distinct, however, was the abrupt disappearance of Lilith's evil aura.

“What spell was stored in that chardalyn your familiar coughed up?” Jarlaxle chose to ask Felicia at that point.

“An old spell of my father's,” she replied. “I found it in the room with the device that Lucifer and I were held in, back when we searched it.” An apologetic look came to her face. “I'm sorry for not telling you, but I figured you might not want me to bring it if I told you what it does.”

Jarlaxle's snowy eyebrows shot up to the middle of his brow. Those last words intrigued him so much he temporarily put aside the issue about the sorceress' uncanny ability to move about so silently not even he could hear her. “What does it do?”

“It creates a powerful vortex that sucks anything near it into the Abyss,” she said. The drow's face fell. “It was a fail safe in case Lilith should refuse to let me go when the time came for her to do so. I don't know how it survived the fall, but it's most fortuitous for us that it did.”

“Not so much the kobolds and medusae,” he remarked. Not that he cared for such creatures, but she had shown such sympathies. It was peculiar to see her be so reckless in the short time he'd known her, and then there was the fact that she had tricked him for this idea. Jarlaxle didn't like being tricked.

“The medusae were loyal to Lilith,” she said and shrugged, not a single trace of remorse on her face. “Had Lilith been banished and denied her prize, those snake-women wouldn't have left us alone.”

“If that's how you felt about them, why stop me from torturing one of them?” he pressed.

“It wasn't necessary,” she shot back. It was a chilling logic, one he was all too familiar with. While he could appreciate her resourcefulness, he still struggled with accepting her treatment of him, let alone her recklessness.

He also didn't like how he hadn't seen through it. Yet at the same time, a part of him found her more intriguing than ever. “For the record, I happen to be extremely reckless, just ask my dwarven companion.”

“Aye,” Athrogate said with a nod. “Had us all fight a dracolich once. Just three of us.”

To that Felicia raised an eyebrow and an amused smile graced her features. “I owe you an apology, then. Both of you.”

Further protests died away at Jarlaxle's lips, although he managed to quickly pick himself back up. “Apology accepted. Do let me know next time you decide to rip the fabric of reality apart.”

A giggle actually escaped her lips, then, a sweet sound that seemed most fitting, it not terribly stereotypical, after such a wild adventure. “You'll be the first to know,” she said and threw him a wink. The only thing missing to make this a story from fairy tale books, the drow reasoned, would be a kiss, but of course reality kicked in before that could happen.

It came in the form of the earth rumbling again. Lucifer hissed angrily, Athrogate brought his morningstars to bear and Jarlaxle flipped out two wands, one for banishing lesser creatures of the Abyss and another to counter the toxic fumes that some demons were able to release. It was ridiculous that this was all he had to show for, but there were no dragon corpses around, at least not to his knowledge.

“No more teleportation?” Felicia asked him and he noticed she hadn't even assumed a fight stance.

“I'm out for the day,” he said, now his turn to look apologetic. “I fear I'm not very good at rescuing Netherese princesses.”

A warm smile graced her lips. “We do tend to bring more trouble than usual.” A joke, even in this moment. The drow couldn't help but appreciate it. Her smile faded away in favour of determination, however, and instead of leaving, as the elf would have expected her to, she stood her ground. “I like to think we come with more perks, though. Let's see if we can turn back this tide somehow.”

“Ye're more optimistic than I am,” the dwarf said, though he didn't leave either.

“Not one bit,” she replied, and then the sands parted.

A roaring wave came at them first. Jarlaxle swapped wands quickly, activating the power of one that he'd bought from a war wizard in Cormyr. A bubble encased them, not all too different from what the medusae had been floating in earlier, and they soared high above the area, just narrowly dodging the sand that surely would have drowned them all. More waves came after the first one as the ruins from before rose up, though no creatures came with them. No dead medusae or kobolds, and no demons. The quartet waited, fully expecting an attack at any moment. The waves grew smaller with each one until finally, none came. A long silence followed, but it seemed for all intents and purposes that this was simply the aftermath of the vortex ripping apart two worlds, and that the Prime and Abyss had merely repaired themselves.

One building had become partially uncovered, the elf noticed. It stood a good distance away from the ruins, but he could see it. Judging from the startled sound that the princess made and the direction she looked, she too had noticed.

“That's the old temple of my goddess,” she informed them. “I'd recognise that door anywhere.”

Judging from the sky and what he'd learned of the surface during his time there, Jarlaxle easily concluded it would be night soon. “It's a good a place as any to rest, provided the beds are still serviceable.”

“Unless it's inhabited,” Felicia reasoned. “There's no telling what's happened to it in all the time it's stood there.”

Athrogate let out an impressed whistle. “Still standing now. Well done fer humans.”

“We commissioned your people to build it, actually,” the princess informed him.

That seemed to surprise the dwarf. “Humans with sense exist? Now that be a twist!” Then he roared with laughter. If the human was bothered by Athrogate's racist remark, however, she didn't show it.

“Did you find any keys on the bottom level?” Jarlaxle remembered to ask.

“Only one,” she said and held up a white key with wings. “I notice each and every key has had some kind of link to my faith somehow. The silver key for the moon, the golden key for the light-bringer and the winged one for-”

“Birds?” Jarlaxle supplied helpfully.

“Angels,” she corrected him. The drow stared at her unblinkingly. “Though which one of the three orders it refers to is anyone's guess.”

Jarlaxle was still caught up in the fact that the goddess of this reckless, manipulative and thieving princess was connected to angels. “Perhaps it means all three?” he managed to say in the end, to which she shrugged.

“The Iynges are the messengers between gods and mortals,” she listed, “the Synochesis are the ones connecting mortals to gods and the Teletarchai are the rulers of initiation. If all their powers have been combined into one key, it's possible that activating this could kill me.”

“Most likely there's more than one, then,” the drow reasoned.

“Most likely,” she echoed, her eyes glued to the key in her hand. Then, before anyone could nag at her, she grasped it tightly in her hands, closed her eyes and summoned forth a light from the very heavens.


	12. The great improvisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When life removes your eyeballs, make something up.

The all-too familiar sensation of darkness and silence was once again upon her. Felicia blinked, but no matter how many times she tried, there was nothing but darkness. Was she underground somewhere? She tried to move only to find that her hands were bound behind her back. Something cold and hard was pressed against her throat.

“You'll sit still, princess, or I'll slit your throat,” came the growled threat of a man whose coarse voice she didn't know. She tried to speak but found her voice was muffled by a gag. “No speaking, either. We don't want you casting any of your spells.”

It seemed this stranger knew more about her than she did about him. Judging from his accent, she quickly concluded that he had to be some sort of surfacer. Possibly a bandit or some other criminal, what with the underlying anger and distrust in his voice.

The floor beneath her felt like wood and the creaking sounds around them suggested it was an aged building. Outside she heard a strong wind screaming like an angry banshee and the temperature inside was raising the hairs on her bare arms and back. It didn't feel like she had a blindfold on her, yet she couldn't see anything.

“You are as hospitable as an orc,” remarked a smoother, male voice, this one sounding strangely familiar, though Felicia struggled to place it. “I would request that you withdraw your steel.”

“And if I don't?” Coarse voice asked.

“I do lack a ruffian in my collection of statues,” Smooth voice countered. A wizard. He had to be. Felicia could easily imagine the appraising look that he gave the brute. The weapon was moved away from her throat.

No doubt this wizard was Netherese and was working together with the kidnappers. If he hoped to use her against Karsus, however, he'd be sorely disappointed. If anything, should that undead busy-body even find the time to notice her missing, most likely Lilith would be upon this place with a horde of demons before any of them could blink. She wondered if the wizard was aware of that.

A strong wind hit the building and brought about more creaks and groans. Some of the wind brushed up against her flesh, making her shiver. It seemed the house was dry, but then again it didn't sound like it was raining.

“Be a courteous host and put a blanket around her,” Smooth voice ordered someone. There was a moment's silence.

“Do as he says,” added Coarse voice. So there was a third person in the room. Felicia heard some scuffling and then a rough but warm piece of fabric was placed around her back and shoulders. It felt a lot like the cheap wool that low-income surfacers wore. The one putting it on her had large, warm hands. They made her think of the farmer who had taken up the role of one of her personal guards. He had been the one to escort her to the temple. She remembered, in the haze of the attack earlier, as memories returned to her, that he had gone down, two arrows sticking out of his torso. Neither had seemed to hit a vital spot, but it had been hard to tell in the darkness. She hoped he was alright, though it was very likely that he was dead by now. Her gut wrenched with the idea, for he was a good and clever man.

Someone had disrupted her spell, too, she remembered, and then she'd been knocked out. None of that explained how she'd gone blind, though she'd hazard a guess that it was the wizard's doing. Not that she couldn't counter – or absorb – spells that brought about such things, but there was a stinging sensation in and around her eyes that suggested it hadn't been magically induced.

Great, someone had poured acid into her eyes, or burned them. At least they'd done it while she was still unconscious, though she couldn't imagine anything short of a powerful enchantment to have the ability to keep her out cold during the procedure. Not to mention they'd had to have a healer with them to stop the acid or fire from spreading past the eyes. A cleric, no doubt, but of which deity was anyone's guess. As a Dawn Titan, especially with Her past, Hekate wasn't terribly popular with the other gods. Not that She had any outright enemies either, though. They had done their bare minimum to heal her, too, it seemed, judging from the pain that still lingered.

There was something about this place that tickled her magical senses and had butterflies flutter about in her stomach. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it felt powerful and strangely familiar.

“It will rain soon,” a third voice said, this one sounding like the voice of a simpleton.

“This place doesn't leak,” the ruffian with a sword informed him. “Some wind'll get through the cracks, but the roof is sound.”

“I don't like this place,” the simpleton went on. She could hear a deep level of concern in his voice. “How much longer until we're done?”

“As soon as her father gives me what I seek, we will release her back to him,” the wizard explained. “It should be one day, at most.”

“So around midnight tomorrow?” the ruffian asked. More silence followed, and since there were no objections or more questions being asked, Felicia figured the mage had nodded. That was bad for her, though. Around midnight _tonight_ was when she was supposed to undergo her initiation ritual to become a torchbearer, the most devoted clerics of Hekate. Even if Karsus went along with whatever this wizard had come up with, she'd be returned to Eileanar and not the temple she'd been travelling to. After all, her father had voiced his disapproval of her religious devotion on more than one occasion. He wouldn't care if she missed her initiation.

It wasn't one she could skip, either. Hekate was intrinsically connected to fate, and so a missed initiation was considered the goddess' will that Her cleric would not become a torchbearer. Yet at the same time, obstacles like these were something that Hekate encouraged Her followers to overcome. Should they succeed, it would be a sign of the goddess' favour. After all, it proved beyond any doubt how much the cleric really wanted to devote themselves to Her.

Felicia was happy to tackle any such challenge, even blind, gagged and bound as she was. She could still feel her holy symbol around her neck, but even without it she had a connection to her goddess in heart, mind and soul that was stronger than any spell she knew. It was just as well she couldn't see anything, for it was in darkness that she had found Hekate in the first place. She brought to mind her dreams and visions of the goddess, coupled with the clerics she'd interacted with in the temple. Some connections had formed that were very strong, so strong that all she had to do was reach out on an intuitive level and they'd know if something was wrong.

She could see one woman in particular, a fiery redhead from the west, and then she willed her spirit to leave her body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Upon the surface of the grounded part of Netheril's empire did one building still stand. Dwarven built, with large, adamantine doors into which had been magically carved a grand sigil of religious importance. The goddess that this place belonged to was depicted in threes at the entrance, but that wasn't what was most striking about this place.

No, what truly stood out was the circle of green plants and trees that made up a very unique oasis. In their wisdom, the torchbearers of Hekate had located an underground river that the dwarves had helped them connect to the surface. The fact that part of it was built to be underground – in honour of Hekate Chthonia, the subterranean version of their many-faceted goddess – had earned them quite a bit of respect from the Stout Folk. Furthermore, seeing as the river was below ground, it had less chance of going dry than other water sources. Some believed, however, that a divine blessing rested upon the place as well.

Whatever the cause, the bountiful, green garden was a beauty to behold even after sunset. The clerics grew their herbs there and their children had a place to play should their mothers be short on family members to help look after them.

As beautiful as the outside of the temple was, however, the interior did in no way pale by comparison. Quite the contrary, clerics and dwarves alike had outdone themselves with carvings and other designs, and fresh flowers from the garden always helped liven things up. The ground floor had large but sturdy windows through which the sun could come in and bring its warmth and light. On that floor was the library, kitchen, laundry room, dining hall and altar room. Two more floors followed – the one right below held the wine cellar, food storage, study hall and bedrooms. Below that again were the bathrooms and meditation rooms. Some rumours suggested a portal existed down there as well, though where it led to only the torchbearers knew.

Selene, junior torchbearer of Hekate, was in deep meditation in the altar room when she heard her name echo in her mind in a voice not her own. An immediate sense of urgency came over her and her blue-green eyes opened. Before the three-figured statue of Hekate hovered a spirit, dressed in the ritual garb of the faith.

She'd recognise that woman anywhere, despite the grotesque display of her missing eyeballs. “Felicia!”

“I don't have much time,” the Netherese princess said. “I've been kidnapped and am held hostage in a wooden cottage. It's old and creaky, but well protected from rain.”

Selene blinked. “Who-”

“They've blinded, gagged and bound me,” Felicia went on, “but I was able to reach you through our joined faith. I will do what I can to free myself and get to the temple in time, but I will need some outside help to do so.”

The priestess' heart was a mix of emotions, but she reminded herself to stay calm and logical, as that was the only thing that would work. “Is there anything else you can tell me about this cottage?”

“There's a familiar power in this place,” the spirit went on. “It might be I'm at a crossroad.”

Selene lit up. “In that case, I will petition Hekate to send the Teletarchai your way. They will see to your initiation.”

“But I don't know the ritual,” Felicia argued.

The cleric smiled, not the least bit discouraged. After all, the senior torchbearers had appointed her with the task of assisting Felicia with her initiation, and so she had learned every step by heart. “Just purify the area like you normally would. White sage will do. The angels will bring you some, along with the feather and bowl to disperse the smoke with, unless there's some of it there already. Then light a white candle and invoke Hekate Propolos, the guide, Phosphorus the light-bearer and Kleidouchos, the keybearer who gives access, just as you've done in the past. Just remember to use the same gestures that we perform during the Rite of Her Sacred Fires.”

“What do I do, then?” the spirit asked.

“Meditate on the _strophalos_ and your place in it,” Selene went on, “and then speak your pledge to Hekate in your own words. The ones who kidnapped you, are they all men?”

“Yes,” the princess replied. “The three of them that I know of. Criminals rarely work alone, though, and I suspect there was a cleric involved in the process of blinding me.”

“I will petition Hekate Damasandra, the one who subdues such men, to aid you,” the priestess said without hesitation. “As for this enemy cleric, I will come and deal with them. Are you able to contact your guards?”

“Yes,” Felicia replied. “One of them was wounded and I don't know his fate. He was escorting me here.”

Selene nodded. “I will petition Hekate Soteira, the saviour, to do what She can for him. Oh, and after you've meditated upon your place in the Great Wheel of Hekate and spoken your pledge, you must present your offering.”

Confusion came to the spirit's face. “What can I possibly offer in my current situation?”

The priestess was unsure and could only shrug.

“Very well, I will have to improvise,” the princess concluded. “Anything else I need?”

Selene explained the rest of what Felicia had to do and then the spirit departed. Immediately the cleric went into a deep, meditative state and willed her own spirit to follow. Thus she soon discovered the quickest path to the princess, as well as the amount of enemies and their placements. Next she offered up her prayer to Soteira and Teletarchai, as promised, before leaving to gather the senior torchbearers. While she was perfectly capable of all the things she'd promised, only they could amass the favour needed to correct a great injustice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Felicia had been in conversation with one of her guards when her spirit was forcefully dragged back to her body. She collapsed shortly afterwards, shivering and trembling uncontrollably from a sudden drop in energy. It was as if she'd been drained to a mere inch of her life.

“Wasn't that a bit much?” asked the simpleton, a surprising amount of concern in his voice.

“It's a necessity where this woman is concerned,” the wizard explained in a voice similar to when mothers explained to their children the necessity of using the latrine. “This way she's out of spells, both arcane and divine. You may remove the gag and untie her, if you wish.”

“It took you long enough to do,” Coarse voice cut in.

“Preparing such a spell takes time,” was all the wizard said, and tersely, and that seemed to be the end of that conversation.

“He could have just prepared it earlier,” the ruffian mumbled. He probably could have, Felicia silently agreed, but considering the nature of the spell, if word got out to other arcanists about its existence, chances were he'd be imprisoned. There was a silent agreement between arcanists to not use such magic, after all, and it was punishable in a way similar to killing a familiar.

There was a moment's silence, apart from the sound of the wind and someone's retreating footsteps. Felicia remained on the floor, unable to move, although her gag was removed. “She's a priestess?” the simpleton asked, and there was a certain level of... apprehension? in his voice.

“As is the woman outside,” the ruffian reminded him sharply. “This one is powerless. It's obvious which one you don't want to anger.”

So it was a female cleric that had assisted in blinding her. That didn't tell Felicia which faith the priestess belonged to, however.

“I fear Shar as much as the next person, brother,” the simpleton countered, solving that mystery and granting the princess much-needed clarity, “but she's not the only deity, or goddess, whose wrath is terrifying.”

Felicia coughed violently. She'd attempted to speak, but found she'd been gagged for too long and had ended up with a coarse throat.

The ruffian grumbled something she couldn't hear. “Give her some fresh, clean water and a bit to eat. The mage may be content to drain her of all her magic, but she'll die if she's left like this and then she'll be of no use to us.”

“What food should I give?” the simpleton asked even as Felicia could hear someone rummaging around.

“Heat up the leftover lentil soup and fetch some garlic bread from the stove,” the ruffian ordered, and for a moment he sounded more like a farmer than a bandit. Were these two yet another case of honest men being forced into life as outlaws because of the encroaching desert created by the phaerimm in response to the gluttonous overuse of magic by the Netherese mages? Felicia felt a moment's sympathy and hoped Damasandra wouldn't be too hard on them.

The wind howled and caused creaking noises among what sounded like trees. She immediately berated herself for not taking note of that earlier. Of course they were away from the desert somewhere! But now she no longer had the power to contact her guards about it!

“We're out of fresh water,” the simpleton said, his voice sounding distant, as if he was in another room. “We have only this strange tea and it's cold... what are these red things?”

“Pomegranate seeds,” the ruffian said. Felicia's heart somehow found the strength to skip a beat. Already the information that these two bandits had garlic was enough to give her hope, but if they also had pomegranate...

“The Sharran made this earlier,” the simpleton said with concern.

“To use in a ritual sacrifice of our captive's guard, but we killed him, remember?” the ruffian shot back. Felicia's heart did an interesting thing of sinking while feeling relief at the same time. “She's not going to need this, which is probably why it's gone cold. Just get rid of the seeds and lavender.”

A plan formed in Felicia's mind as she heard more rummaging.

“Do I heat it back up?” the simpleton asked.

The princess decided to cut in at that point. “I can drink cold tea,” she managed to croak out. She had no time to wait if she wanted to regain her voice, and lavender would do her throat a world of good.

“Did you hear that?” the ruffian called to his brother. “She says she'll drink it cold.”

“Oh good,” the simpleton said. “Less work for me.”

“Yes, well,” his brother continued, “make sure you clean the table, too, so you'll have something to place it all on. I need some fresh air.” Then Felicia heard him leave.

Some more rummaging later, as well as the sound of a table being moved, and she was lifted up to sit straight. Her hands were unbound and led to grasp a cup. She immediately downed its content, feeling the sweet flavour of pomegranate and lavender soothe her parched throat. It was, in fact, sweeter than what she was used to. “Did you sweeten this?” she asked the simpleton, who was still moving about. Despite the good sensation of the liquid on her throat, she still ended up coughing.

“No, the priestess did,” he explained. “I saw her put some honey into it earlier.”

As a cleric, Felicia knew that pomegranate seeds, lavender and honey were never used in sacrificial rituals. No doubt the Sharran had said so to make sure no-one would dare touch the mixture. No, this was probably meant to be used medicinally later on. Felicia found it fitting for her to be drinking it, but it served an even greater purpose beyond restoring her throat.

It was, in fact, the perfect libation for the torchbearer ritual. After all, Hekate loved all things pomegranate, lavender and honey.

A plate was placed before her and she was given help to grab a piece of garlic bread. The man had even torn it up into smaller pieces for her. What a darling! She'd be sure to ask Hekate to go easy on him, although she would still demand justice for her slain guard. It took a while, but a bowl of hot soup arrived soon enough. She was more than happy to eat what she could.

Feeling renewed in body at least, she managed to convince the simpleton to leave the garlic bread and tea. She tried to think of ways to persuade him into bringing her a white candle and give her some alone time, but seeing as she was blind, that one would be a bit tricky to pull off. It seemed straightforward honesty was the only way to go.

“I understand that you're a pious man?” she asked when he returned.

There was some scuffling of his feet before he answered. “Always have been. I leave prayers to Kozah, Jannath, Jergal and Amaunator most of the time. I used to pray to Tyche whenever my brother and I went on adventures, but that was when we were still children.” She could hear delight, if not outright rapture, in his voice as he spoke of the goddesses of earth and luck.

“Do you pray to Shar?” she pressed. An uncomfortable silence followed.

“I stay away from her clerics,” he said evasively. That told her a lot more than he probably thought.

“I serve neither Selûne nor Shar,” she went on. “In fact, I have nothing to do with their petty conflict, and the same is true for my goddess.” There was another uncomfortable silence, but at least he didn't leave. Felicia continued. “You and your brother are quite hospitable for outlaws. Have you done this all your lives or is it something new?” After all, none of the deities he'd mentioned had any direct connections to thieves or bandits, apart from Tyche perhaps, and he'd already explained that one.

“We grew up on a farm,” he said, “but we had to abandon it because-” he grew quiet.

“Because of the growing desert?” she finished for him. Another moment of silence followed.

“Yes,” he confessed.

“Do you know why the desert is growing?”

“No.”

“A race of creatures powerful with magic are doing it,” she explained. “They're called phaerimm and they use spells that drain life and magic out of the land.”

“But why?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised and interested.

“Because we have too many flying enclaves,” she explained as simply as she could. She heard some scraping against the wood and then the sound of him sitting down. “We mages use too much magic to keep up our flying enclaves and it's slowly killing the phaerimm. They have no other choice but to cast their spells on these lands if they wish to survive.”

“That's not right,” the simpleton said and she sincerely hoped that he meant the enclaves. “Why not lower some of the cities to the ground? Make a deal with these... phaerimm?”

She smiled. “That's what I suggested. I imagine that's why I'm here.”

“What do you mean?” he sounded genuinely concerned. Excellent.

“The arcanist who hired you,” she went on. “I know his voice from among those who don't like my idea. I suspect he's one of the mages who want to keep all the cities in the sky, which will continue to kill the land below. My father is one of the people I've managed to persuade, and he's very powerful and influential. No doubt your mage wishes to sway him otherwise.” Not that she could say any of this with certainty, of course, but the simpleton didn't need to know that.

“Are you sure of this?” he asked all the same, though judging from the tone in his voice, he didn't sound hard to convince. “He did say that he wanted something from your father.”

“His capitulation on the issue, no doubt,” she countered, not missing a beat. “We've already established that I have no religious enemies. If anything, I was merely on my way to my initiation. A simple and harmless ritual, albeit important. No, I think I'm held here for political reasons, which won't help anyone in this dying empire.”

“You would seek to save it, even now?” His voice was full with disbelief, as if he struggled to grasp the fact that mages like her existed. It very nearly broke her heart.

“Of course,” she said and meant it. As foolish as the Netherese were, she'd never give up on them. “There's plenty of people, young and old, mundanes and arcanists, that support me. Many who are ready to abandon their lofty homes to come and live on the surface with the rest of you, myself included.” If she did, she reasoned, she might even find and reunite with her sisters.

“But how can you do that now?” he asked, despair rising in his voice. That was no good, she needed him focused. “Your eyes, they-”

“The most important thing for me to do tonight is to get through my initiation,” she explained. “My goddess is said to bestow her favour on those who manage to overcome any obstacles to perform it. Though I will need some help.”

He was quiet for a while. “How will that help you get back home?”

An amused smile graced her features. “Surely a religious man such as yourself need not ask! Don't you know how the gods work? Little they do is ever straightforward.”

A low chuckle escaped his lips. “That's true, like this one time with Tyche-” he began, but then grew silent. Felicia heard some footsteps and then a door opened and closed. The silence lasted a bit longer until he finally spoke. “What do you need?”

With her hope renewed did the princess tell him all that he needed to know.


	13. Restricted access

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposés abound, confrontations are inevitable and the drow's charming personality is put to the test. Also, fiendish creatures can feel strongly about their mortals, just ask Athrogate.

As the memories ended and the darkness receded, Felicia found her head to be strangely comfortable, as if resting on something soft, like a pillow. Her body didn't rest on anything, she found, in fact it was floating in the air. Feeling a moment's panic, her green eyes shot open only to see the face of Jarlaxle hovering above her. She remembered, then, that she was in a magical bubble of his making, and that it kept everything and everyone in it afloat.

Obviously the magic in the winged key was by far the most powerful, and the memories suggested it had been connected to the Teletarchai seeing as they were about her initiation. She didn't remember anything apart from what the key had shown her, but no doubt she'd be able to piece the puzzle together with time and a misadventure or two. Unless there were other keys still about, that was. There was no reason to assume there weren't.

“Welcome back,” the elf said with a wry smile.

Apparently she hadn't just remained in the bubble, the drow had even gone out of his way to make her comfortable while she was unconscious by letting her rest her head in his lap. “You remain my benefactor, I see,” she remarked with a smile of her own.

“As best I can, Your Highness,” was his reply, followed up with a tip of his hat.

“What are the chances of you calling me by my first name?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Slim,” he retorted.

“So there _is_ a chance,” she remarked, playing back on his own comment in regards to her studying him. He seemed to have caught onto this, for his face brightened up with unbridled amusement. The twinkle in his eye, especially, made him very handsome. Felicia's heart skipped a beat, most unexpectedly, and she was caught off guard. She felt her cheeks flare up and she immediately sat up straight in an attempt to save some dignity, only nearly missing full impact between their heads thanks to the drow's quick reflexes.

A suggestive whistle sounded from Athrogate, which did nothing to help the situation. She immediately felt annoyed with the dwarf, something her familiar seemed to have caught on to as he jumped on top of his head and pushed the helmet further down his face. Angry grumbling sounded from the warrior in combination with his arms flailing, but the cat merely dismounted with speed and grace and ran into his mistress' arms before Athrogate could grab him.

“Did you gain any useful information about the temple?” Jarlaxle's voice cut in and the dwarf stopped mid-stride in his chase after Lucifer.

Clearing her throat in an attempt to steady her voice, as her heart still beat too fast for her liking, she did her best to answer. “The memories were about the time when I was initiated as a torchbearer, not so much the temple itself.”

“Torchbearer?” Jarlaxle asked.

“The most devoted clerics of Hekate,” she clarified.

“And who is Hekate, exactly?” the drow pressed. “I fear I know little of human deities.”

Feeling emboldened by the rapid disappearance of the heat in her cheeks, Felicia turned around to face him. “She's a Dawn Titan, or a primordial if you will, like Kronos and Dendar the Night Serpent. I'd give you a more lengthy description if we had the time, but suffice it to say that they have a very... _different_ tale of creation than the churches of Selûne and Shar.”

“In that case, let's skip ahead to what she's goddess _of_ as we move closer to her temple,” he suggested and indicated the building in the distance with his hand.”

“I'm not sure if we have the time for that, either,” Felicia replied as her gaze went back to the temple. “I certainly couldn't name them all in one breath.”

“You may breathe as often as you need to as far as I'm concerned,” the elf quipped.

"Why, thank you kindly," she shot back dryly, her reward a wide grin on his face. She couldn't fully fight back her own amusement either.

"But in truth, I really _am_ curious," he informed her and gave her an expectant look.

Giving in, for she saw no point in refusing, she listed all the things associated with Hekate. Crossroads, witchcraft, necromancy, death, the moon, fire, darkness, wealth, protection of women and children, vengeance, the sea, sky and earth, caverns and all things underground, portals, gateways and doorways, liminal spaces, keys, magic, journeys, poisonous plants and the cosmos.

"She must be terribly busy," he remarked once she was finished.

"More so than most people think," she shot back enigmatically, but before she could elaborate, the dwarf announced they were at the temple.

Felicia turned away from the drow and saw the symbol on the two doors. She knew it for the image that had been on her mind ever since she woke up. In this moment of reminiscing was she reminded of the wand she'd taken from Jarlaxle and she reached into her bosom where she'd hid it.

“Over here,” she heard the drow say and she turned to see the wand in his hand. He grinned, much like the cat that got the cream, and while she was relieved that she hadn't lost it, the fact that his hand had been down her shirt wasn't something that went by unnoticed.

“Pray tell, how did you remove it from my person?” she asked, caught somewhere between offence and amusement.

His smile faltered a bit, but he easily caught himself by turning dead serious and saying: “Very carefully.”

Felicia settled on amusement. “Your gentlemanly ways are much appreciated.”

“It is by far my finest trait,” he shot back, his chest puffed up with pride.

Felicia merely shook her head, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. She expected some form of comment, but the bubble burst before that could happen. They fell the remaining way and landed in the sand, though only the elf and cat did so gracefully. Athrogate rolled around until he was the right side up and shook off the sand as a dog did water. Then he looked to the dark elf.

“Ye two should get a room,” the dwarf said before he got back up on his feet. “Ballroom, barroom, bathroom.” Then he roared with laughter, after which he bent down to pick up Lucifer. The cat had sunk down so much that only his head and the tip of his tail still stuck out of the sand. He didn't object to being carried by the warrior, strangely enough, and while Athrogate had been eager to chase after the feline for retaliation earlier, now he treated the creature with a surprising amount of care.

Felicia, too, was covered in sand. She was up and about easily enough, although after taking stock of her current situation, she could only conclude that she needed a bath.

“Let's hope the bathrooms in the temple are still serviceable, then,” Jarlaxle said teasingly.

A grunt sounded from Athrogate. “Dwarven built, o' course they are. Bet ye there's no scrapes or scars.”

“Speaking of which, how does one open such large doors?” the drow asked, his eyes glued to the entrance.

Felicia followed his gaze, ploughing through her memories as she approached. She recalled some methods, like the touch of a torchbearer on the trident's “heart”, or a cleric of the faith simply uttering the name of Hekate. The priestess tried both, but nothing happened. She then did a combination of the two, but that had no effect, either. Of all the things to forget! Surely the key to opening it was right on the tip of her tongue, too!

The medusa had said that the bottom level of the ruins had held treasures that would make Jarlaxle feel poor. No treasure had been found, however, not even among the beholders. Felicia knew her father would have made sure she wouldn't miss anything, and the snake-woman had been forced to speak the truth by the princess' spell, so there was no way she had lied to them. It could be that the treasure had been stolen or moved away and that the medusa had mistakenly believed it to be below, of course. Still, they had no clues as to what had become of it, and not only had Jarlaxle and Athrogate risked their lives on this mad quest, but the drow had sacrificed one of his wands. They very much deserved compensation, and she needed her father's funds to secure her own future. With no more keys forthcoming, the only place she could look to for clues now was this building.

Sunlight slowly but surely disappeared behind the horizon, bringing the darkness of the night sky to loom above them. Her eyes turned to the infrared spectrum, though it did nothing to solve the riddle on how to get into the temple. A hand came to rest on her shoulder and she looked back to see the elf.

“Come, we'll take you out of the desert now,” he said, the look in his uncovered eye suggesting he didn't like coming this close only for things to end now, either, but having accepted that they had little choice in the matter. “Athrogate and I have collected quite a bit of valuables already, and you kept your end of the bargain.”

“I'll be nothing but a burden the way I am now,” she argued, but she knew there was no point in staying.

“The daughter of Karsus?” Jarlaxle's white eyebrows went up to the middle of his forehead. “Hardly. If anything, you and your little fiend of a feline are by far the most valuable of our findings.”

“You lost a wand,” she countered. A grimace came to his face. “If I could make you a new one, I would.” She meant it.

Those words seemed to catch him off guard as his expression immediately changed to surprised and then pensive. He seemed to study her face for a few more seconds before he spoke. “I believe you.”

That meant more to her than she had anticipated. Gone were her thoughts on finding Karsus' treasure and instead she began thinking of ways to earn enough money to buy Jarlaxle a new wand. She hoped modern-day Faerûnians didn't mind women as chief librarians as much as the Netherese had.

Even though she'd found her motivation to leave, it was still with a heavy heart that she turned away from the one place that had been her salvation, both literally and figuratively. She noticed Lucifer was able to walk on the sands on his own and she received an encouraging nod from Athrogate.

“How do you plan on getting us out of this place?” she asked. “I don't see any mounts.”

In response, Jarlaxle flashed her a knowing smile and brought out a beautifully crafted, black figurine depicting a nightmare – a hellish horse with fiery hooves, mane and tail that breathed fire from its nostrils. Before the drow could put it down, however, an objection sounded from Athrogate.

“Snort's not responded to me calls,” the dwarf said, a troubled look on his face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Have you used up the amount of time he can spend on the Prime already?” the drow asked, perplexed. Surely the warrior had brought out his hellish mount only once, during the fight with the medusae.

“I dunno,” Athrogate said and scratched his beard. “I called 'im afore the fight with the Shade, and he appeared, rightly so, but then he left again afore I could mount 'im.”

That seemed most peculiar. “Was he offended somehow?” Jarlaxle pressed.

The warrior shrugged only for his eyes to go to Lucifer. Then it seemed to dawn on him. “Damn pig smelled the cat's piss on me! He's territorial, and he's not fer coming back until the smell's gone!”

Now that was a serious problem. The mercenary strongly doubted he'd get a dwarf to ride a nightmare, and there wasn't room enough on the fiendish mare's back for all four of them. He wasn't fond of leaving any of them behind, either. Athrogate was a loyal companion and Felicia was a treasure on more than one level.

Said woman's voice cut through his silent contemplation. “Jarlaxle, Athrogate... the door is glowing.”

They turned around and, lo and behold, a golden light shone between the two doors. Looking up at the top of that crack, the drow noticed a large gem pulsating with that same light and sending more of it into the space below it, filling up rapidly. There hadn't been a gem there before sunset.

“It's the moon!” Felicia exclaimed and pointed to the full moon hovering above them on the night sky. “Of course! If the doors have been sealed off, they can only be re-opened at night. Silly me.” She stepped up to the doors with renewed confidence, Jarlaxle unsure if he should stay where he was or follow. He noticed Lucifer sat in the sand and looked on expectantly, so he decided to remain where he was.

The princess started up a chant as her fingers traced the various symbols on the two doors. “ _Ecce nunc mater canticum_.” The trident started to glow. “ _Obscura nocte tamen quam luce alia_.” The serpents glowed next. “ _Nate dea vitae os_.” This time it was the downward-pointing crescent's turn to light up. “ _Virgo, mater et avia_.” What had looked like black holes drilled into the top of the doors lit up as well. “ _Mater et Angelorum exitibus_.” The “holes” on the crescents that rested on top of the two large, female statues on either side of the doors followed their “kin”. “ _Servierunt ab inferno daemones et animas et canum_.” More crescents with holes lit up, this time on the ones that encased the female statue that loomed over the doors. “ _Decemuir portas, fundamenta, et secreta magicae_.” The eyes on the statue to the left glowed. “ _Et ariolatus est, et magister doctrinae necromanticam_.” The right statue's eyes glowed. “ _Ignis sacer dea lunae_.” The eyes on the topmost statue glowed, as did the circle on its forehead. “ _Qui multos a rogo patieris_.” The golden light was joined by sparkling silver. “ _Consumptis opibus et mater canini_. _Cognitor venenum diffundere et salutem_.” At this point, Jarlaxle had to look away. Try as he might, his eyes couldn't withstand more of the light, protected by enchantments though he was. “ _Nunc veni in horam hanc_. _Quia sapientia et fortitudo tuum da nobis_.” At this point even Athrogate and the cat looked away. “ _Lavit nos in luce tenebris ostende nobis_. _Excita in nobis scintilla ad magica_.” There was a moment's silence and then Jarlaxle heard Felicia utter: “Hekate.” The level of reverence in her voice bothered the drow quite a bit, but then the light disappeared and the sound of scraping and deep rumbling soon followed.

“Doors be openin',” the dwarf said almost excitedly, though Jarlaxle wrote that down to him probably just wanting to see his kinsmen's handiwork. Turning back, the mercenary did indeed see the two large doors open wide. Felicia returned to their side, the look on her face that of anticipation, her shoulders tense. She was probably wary of any new residents within the temple, a sentiment that the elf readily shared. The doors took their sweet time to open, magically coerced though they were, but eventually they stopped wide enough for six humans to walk through shoulder to shoulder.

The drow brought out his wand of magic-detecting and activated it, but apart from the obvious enchantment that lay on the doors and statues, quickly fading even now, there was nothing magical immediately beyond the confines of the doors.

Felicia uttered a prayer and kept her red-eyed gaze on the temple for about a minute. “No evil resides within,” she informed him and turned to him next. Upon studying him, however, one golden eyebrow was raised. Disappointment appeared on her face next and then she returned her gaze to the building before them. “Let's hope we'll find your payment within.” Her voice lacked any warmth when she said it. That didn't sit well with him.

“And possibly some comforts,” he added in an attempt to restore it, “although with the excellent company that the four of us make, we shall at the very least enjoy ourselves socially.”

Felicia didn't answer. Jarlaxle bit back a sigh. That was the last thing he needed right now.

“I'll check ta see if it's safe,” Athrogate said and picked Lucifer up, dragging the unwilling feline with him, “afore this sand begins ta chafe!” Then he roared with laughter the whole way, even a bit after he entered the building, though it lacked its usual merriment. It also did nothing to improve the mood outside.

Still, the privacy was much needed, and as soon as they were alone, Jarlaxle stepped up before the princess. “Would you look at me, Your Highness?” She kept staring at her feet. “Do you think I lied about believing you? That you're not valuable to me?”

“Monetary value,” she said without looking up.

“That too,” he admitted. No sense in lying to her, at least not on this issue. She seemed to respond best to blunt honesty anyway.

“How can I know it's more than that?” she asked. “You're evil.”

“According to your spell, yes,” he agreed, “and if you'd grown up in the same place as me, chances are you'd be evil too. You witnessed me meaning to torture the medusa, surely it doesn't come as a surprise.” It wasn't tactful in the least, and a part of him immediately regretted those words as her hands clenched into angry fists, her jaw set and her form started trembling.

“So-called 'good' people commit torture too,” she choked out, her voice suggesting she was barely in control of her emotions. “They still don't register as evil.”

“Fair point,” he said quickly. Her fists unclenched and her trembling stopped. That was something, at least. “To be honest, I'm not in the habit of announcing my philosophical beliefs to the world upon first meetings, nor are you, I believe. I let my actions speak for me. Do they not matter to you?”

There was a slight pause. “They do.”

“I understand that Karsus was a lich in the time leading up to the casting of his infamous spell,” he went on, “and that a demon queen stalked you the rest of the time.” She still didn't look at him. He paused as he thought of a way to get her to do so. Then it struck him. “Will you please look at me, _Felicia_?”

Her jaw relaxed and her lips parted slightly. Then she looked up at him, which wasn't difficult seeing as they were almost the same height. He'd expected to see much more anger in her eyes than was there, and he took that as further encouragement.

“I'm neither lich nor demon,” he continued, “and while it's true that you've witnessed some of my less than ideal traits, I would hope that my other actions have helped paint a broader picture than the usual ideas of good, evil, law and chaos.”

“So you're complicated,” she concluded with a wry smile, and while it held only a fraction of the warmth from before, it was most certainly a start.

He pressed a hand to his chest, which puffed up with pride, and a smile grew on his face. “Quite so!” Then he pointed to her. “As are you, my dear lady.”

“Though you're still evil,” she added, conveniently ignoring his remark about her.

“I was surrounded by it,” he argued, his hand moving in a flourish as he spoke, and he remembered the Shades and the way they'd behaved. Not that he knew much about the general attitude of Netherese men, but Felicia seemed to bear little love for them. “If I could, I'd gladly trade in your mental fortitude and strength of will to stand here before you without reacting to your spell, but alas-”

“I had help,” she countered, and in that moment Jarlaxle felt a sense of understanding form between them.

“As did I,” he supplied in a serious tone, which softened her expression considerably. He let his hands rest at his sides. “I've had the best of friends and adventures of all kinds, and only the finest mentors teaching me to put aside hatred and pride, two things my race is all too fond of. And just consider, if I hadn't been taught those things, chances are I never would have made it to the surface, let alone met you.” A warm smile grew on his face. "That's something I have yet to regret."

She raised a sceptical eyebrow, but he saw the hope in her eyes all the same. "You won't abandon me for a better deal, then?"

He grew very serious. “Perish the thought. If anything, your cunning and manipulative ways have only motivated me to stay.”

At first she opened her mouth, probably to voice her objection judging from the indignation on her face, but then she seemed to think better of it and merely gave him a wry smile. This time it was with almost the same amount of warmth as before. “Point taken, though should you ever require information from an unwilling subject, I ask that you let me teach you my spell first.”

His grin disappeared, but he wasn't offended. Rather he gave her a serious nod. “Your method is by far the most effective.”

“Except within an _anti-magic field_ ,” she mused, a thoughtful look coming to her face.

“In which case, I shall have to improvise,” he countered, though he refrained from informing her of his abilities as a skilled orator. As things were, her trust in him was paper-thin, and he needed that trust to grow strong in order for his future business endeavours to be successful. Already he was forming plans on how to wring as much money out of the scholars of Waterdeep as possible.

“If'n ye be done with the wedding,” Athrogate's voice called out from between the open doors, “I found us all some good bedding!” Jarlaxle glared at him for the interruption, which had the dwarf roar with laughter as he went back inside.

“It'll only get colder the longer we stand out here,” Felicia said and startled Jarlaxle by slipping her arm into his. He spun around to look at her. She paused and looked at him, surprised. “Is something wrong?”

The mercenary considered their joined arms, close proximity to each other and how very warm she felt standing next to him like that. _Trust_ , her actions told him. His gaze met hers, a fleeting encounter of red-glaring eyes in the dark. “Not at all, Your High-,” he paused, “Felicia.”

Her face brightened up considerably, a spark of pure delight in her eyes. “Good,” she said, and with Jarlaxle leading the way did they step inside the abandoned building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some explanations as to what inspired me to go beyond the usual gods and create Hekate:
> 
> I actually found an article online where the writer was toying around with the idea of alternate sects for the Witches of Rashemen, and Hekate was such a one. In the mind of the author, Hekate was a compromise of sorts between Selûne and Shar and thus an enemy of both faiths. At first I thought the idea was ridiculous, not as a concept in general, but to apply to the Witches who have a very clear-cut faith in the Three (Chauntea, Mielikki and Mystra). However, the idea of a deity in-between the war of light and darkness did appeal to me. Then later on I came across the Dawn Titans, or primordials if you will, which is an old idea of Ed Greenwood.
> 
> Does this mean Hekate is canon? Not by a long shot. Does it mean I support the Spellplague now? As much as I do a bad rash. Am I using a lot of artistic license by creating this primordial and having her worshipped as a deity? Yes.
> 
> Her full background story is in the works, in fact, so if you find that stuff interesting, stay tuned.
> 
> Also, yes, the chant is in Latin. The original, in English, can be found on deviantArt. Leave me a comment if you want a link.


	14. Where it takes us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knows what the future holds? Who can remember everything from their past? Even Jarlaxle is prone to forget some things, but sometimes these things find their way back.

The temple had turned out to be abandoned and while it had been covered in sand for who knew how long, the interior was still pretty much intact. Athrogate, naturally, had ceaselessly bragged about the craftsmanship, and although he'd found sturdy beds, the bedsheets had, of course, disintegrated. No food was in the pantry, though the bathing areas still worked, with water pumped in through an elaborate pipe system. Yet another thing for the dwarf to brag about. There were no towels, soaps, mattresses, pillows, blankets or duvets around, however, and so the drow ended up using even more of his magical repertoire.

Felicia found him at one point and brought him with her into the library where she showed him a re-charger for wands. Neither of them were sure why it was still there, but the drow wasted no time putting in his wands. She was so delighted on his behalf it seemed to have taken years off of her life, and the youthful smile on her face was highly contagious.

All their mundane clothes were put into some form of machine that was fuelled with less magic than the drow had expected. The princess informed both him and Athrogate that it was due to the pipe system, which rendered the need for minor portals into the Elemental Plane of Water unnecessary.

Once everyone was washed, well groomed and well fed did the call for sleep kick in. The dwarf and human went to their rooms almost immediately, Felicia accompanied by her familiar, and Jarlaxle bid them good night as he cleaned up the empty plates and cups into his enchanted cloth. Once he'd made sure to check that they were sound asleep, however, he opened one of the doors as per Felicia's instructions and stepped into the cold desert night.

He sent a call to his former lieutenant and current leader of Bregan D'aerthe, then – Kimmuriel Oblodra – and he didn't have to wait long before a shimmering, translucent doorway appeared next to him. Out of it stepped another drow, dressed in much simpler garb than his position would suggest. Unlike Jarlaxle, he had long, white hair, silky smooth and neatly braided. He greeted Jarlaxle with a polite bow.

“I shan't keep you long,” the mercenary said even as the other dark elf's gaze swept over the area they were in, “but I have some news that I think will interest you.”

“Dwarven built,” Kimmuriel said appraisingly, “and a temple, but not to any dwarven deity judging by the statues. Here I thought you weren't interested in human religions.” His gaze went back to Jarlaxle.

“Religion undeniably plays a big role in the shaping of the Realms,” Jarlaxle countered enigmatically. The psion didn't argue. “I haven't brought you here for prayer meetings, but rather something of historical and potentially magical significance.”

A snowy eyebrow was raised on Kimmuriel's face, a strong indication that he was interested.

“Athrogate and I found the city of Eileanar, of ancient Netheril.” Jarlaxle decided to drop the bomb right away and when Kimmuriel's eyebrow was joined by the other, the warrior pointed in the direction of the faraway ruins. “Technically, it was a team of Waterdhavian archaeologists that found it first, but they were slaughtered by a Shade.”

The psionicist's eyebrows narrowed. “What's a Shade?”

“A human of Netherese descent who has been infused with pure shadowstuff,” the mercenary explained. “I had it confirmed in conversation with one of them that the city of Shade still very much exists, but their magic is fuelled by another Weave called the Shadow Weave. I was unable to identify any of their spells, and I strongly suspect other Weave users will have the same disadvantage.”

The interest in Kimmuriel's eyes was unmistakable. “Even the archmage?”

“Even the matron mothers,” Jarlaxle said, dead serious. “We managed to secure a lot of tomes.” He reached into the _bag of holding_ in his belt and handed over each and every one. “I imagine copies of these will be of great value to our wizards.”

The psioncist accepted each book, all of which disappeared into an enchanted ring of his. “I shall have the originals returned to you along with the profit. It shouldn't take long.”

“Make it a tenday, at most,” the mercenary instructed him. “It's no use for me to return to Waterdeep empty-handed. Furthermore, I need you to look into two matters for me.”

“As best I can, of course,” Kimmuriel said as he stored the last tome in his ring.

“First one is if Karsus had any offspring,” the warrior began and he quickly added as the psionicist opened his mouth, “not the Karsites, I mean offspring that can cast spells and don't have any unusual powers tied to their heritage.”

“Ordinary, spellcasting humans, you mean,” Kimmuriel clarified. Jarlaxle nodded. “That shouldn't be too hard to do. And the second task?”

“It might be that you already know this,” the mercenary went on, “but I need to know of any powers that can single-handedly destroy a whole nest of beholders.” It had been on his mind ever since the events in the beholder caves and the whole affair didn't sit well with him.

“No one spell, that's for certain,” the psionicist stated bluntly. “It would be interesting to see if the likes of Gromph Baenre could accomplish such a feat, but it's doubtful even for him. The only thing I can think of would be something that could deflect or absorb the magic in their eye rays and turn it into a weapon against them. I know of one magical shield that does the deflecting – the _shield of Balduran_ – but that's an item nigh on impossible to find. Perhaps with a rod of absorption some of the rays could be rendered ineffective, but there's a limit to how much magic those things can store before they destroy the one holding them.” There was a slight pause. “No, the only thing I can think of, apart from the powers of Mystra's Chosen, is _wlalth-chath_ – spellfire, as the humans call it – but that's an exceedingly rare power. Of the few, recorded instances of it throughout history, it has been found to manifest in human females only.”

Jarlaxle kept his thoughts silent as he continued to ask. “What about the phaerimm? Would spellfire be effective against them?”

“Undoubtedly,” the psionicist confirmed. “They are a never-ending font of magic ready to be absorbed and fired back at them. The more they'd attack, the more they'd fuel the wielder. Although spellfire is a double-edged blade. While it is powerful, if too much magic is consumed, it will destroy the one using it.”

“So spell resistance is no protection against it?” the mercenary pressed.

“Nor is immunity to fire,” Kimmuriel supplied. “It can lay low a red dragon, whether alive or undead. Even gods fear it, and rightly so.”

“Surely it's not without its weaknesses,” Jarlaxle suggested.

The psionicist shrugged. “I wouldn't know what they are, though there might be mages who do. I'd check with the wizards of our own people, but the mere mentioning of _wlalth-chath_ is almost certain to set in motion too many questions. Simply associating with or having witnessed a spellfire wielder at work will put a person in immense danger. It's highly coveted by Zhentarim mages, Red Wizards, our own people and probably these... Shades as well. If there's such a person around, it's always advised by less ambitious mages to avoid them completely.”

“We're not without our ambitions, though,” the mercenary pointed out with a sly grin. To his surprise, Kimmuriel didn't seem to share his enthusiasm.

“If you were to find such a person and sell him or her out to the Zhentarim, for example,” the psionicist explained, “chances are they would either kill you or take you captive to prevent you from spreading word to other mages about the spellfire wielder's existence.”

This time it was Jarlaxle's turn to raise his eyebrows. “That's a dreadful way to do business.”

“Indeed,” Kimmuriel agreed, “and so I shall assume this person dead and not look into the matter any further.”

“Most agreeable,” the mercenary replied. A silent understanding passed between them and then the psionicist excused himself.

Jarlaxle accepted it with a nod, thought he added before Kimmuriel could step through his _dimension door_. “Of course, I expect nothing less than the usual profit margin to be returned to me.”

The psionicist tensed up briefly. “Naturally.” To his credit he managed to keep his voice calm, but Jarlaxle grinned at his retreating back nevertheless.

Once back inside, the doors closed once more, he slipped quietly into the room where Karsus' daughter had gone. It all made sense now – Felicia possessed spellfire. She was the archwizard's weapon against the phaerimm. Lilith was afraid of her. This was why his _silence_ effect and enchanted rope had failed against her. It was why the portal they'd gone through had closed prematurely. Closing the door as quietly as death, a dagger appeared in his gloved hand, which he commanded to grow into a rapier. Kimmuriel's advice was always sound. Felicia was dangerous – _too_ dangerous.

Jarlaxle didn't like this one bit. She'd helped him in any way she could, she was clever and resourceful and she'd even taken a liking to Athrogate. Not to mention she was also valuable in ways not related to spellfire and most importantly, she had taken a liking to the drow. Even after finding out that he registered as evil had she chosen to trust him.

 _Trust is for fools_. A much-popular saying among the drow. The memory of the devastated beholder caves returned and he was reminded of the facts that Kimmuriel had laid out to him. Neither spell resistance or protection from fire would save him if she should use her power against him. Even if she didn't, there were enemies on the surface much more powerful than him. If they found out about the powers that she possessed, it was unlikely that they would survive. He had already failed in two of his business ventures up there, and while it wouldn't deter him from trying again, he had to carefully calculate every decision he made. Felicia was a wild card.

He should make her death quick, at least. She deserved that much mercy. His face turned grim as he approached the bed where she slept. Peaceful rest, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her lips parted slightly and her eyes closed. Her eyelids fluttered, suggesting she was deep in a dream. Next to her lay Lucifer, curled up in a fluffy ball. She didn't even suspect him. He raised his rapier to point at her chest. The mental image of stabbing through it made its way into his mind and he easily envisioned the shock and betrayal that would appear on her face. Shock, betrayal and hurt.

Moonlight filtered through the window and lit up her pale face. Her golden locks shone under that light like an angelic halo. She was so very different from the women he'd been in the company of in the past. Not a treacherous whore like Sharlotta, nor a stupid and inflexible tool, like Ellery. She was wiser, more clever and considerably more resourceful, but also lacked the abject cruelty of matron mothers. If he was to compare her to anyone, it would be the dragon Ilnezhara, though he doubted he'd be able to get this close to killing a dragon. Furthermore, the comparison only helped to remind him of the danger she posed.

 _Find me_. The words, spoken in Felicia's voice, appeared in his mind. An old memory re-surfaced before he could stop it, and he recalled a dream he'd had in Reverie many centuries ago, back when he was a drowling. _Find me and we will find out what freedom is_.

He was temporarily rocked back on his feet. Why would he remember that _now_ , of all times, and in the princess' voice? He looked at Felicia's sleeping form, his keen eyes studying once more the holy symbol that hung around her neck. That symbol seemed vaguely familiar. His confusion magnified – had he actually met Felicia in Reverie? She was part star elf, but this was the first time he'd ever heard of a human – well, mostly human – entering a state of dreams usually reserved for elves.

Not that it was commonplace for drow to enter Reverie either. In his time in Menzoberranzan, Jarlaxle had learned that he was an exception rather than the general rule. Neither his mother nor any of his siblings had been able to understand how he had changed from that experience to put aside his hatred of humans. It was a well-kept secret of his, a precious memory that no-one but him knew of. He wondered if Felicia knew. Then again, she was still suffering from amnesia, so it was doubtful.

His natural curiosity welled up inside and temporarily pushed aside his concerns. That she possessed spellfire made her dangerous, to be sure, and he'd take a great risk travelling with her. There was no guarantee that he could control her. On the other hand, he was absurdly curious about the memory that had just risen in his mind, and he wanted to know if she could indeed enter Reverie and if she had been the one to meet him there so many centuries ago. If that was the case, then there was something far more important at work here, effectively overriding any false need for security triggered by Kimmuriel's words. Something that resonated deep within him, even to this day. Furthermore, that spellfire of hers would certainly be useful against any potential enemies, and she had already defeated a powerful demon queen without even resorting to that power! She also liked him, which alone was an avenue through which he could control her - it wasn't as if he hadn't resorted to such methods in the past.

Despite all fears and cold, practical concerns, he let his rapier rest at his side. Killing was such a crude and pointless way of solving problems. Jarlaxle enjoyed finding members of various races that rose above their limitations, and he was very curious to see what she could do. Both Sharlotta and Ellery had disappointed him, but he had a feeling Felicia wouldn't. He dismissed his weapon, took one last look at the sleeping angel that had most unexpectedly entered his life, and then grinned at his own earlier irrationality. Killing her for being useful? He clearly wasn't in a right state of mind.

 

* * *

 

 

A soft bed with a whole assortment of fluffy pillows and a soft, warm duvet awaited him in his room. He got undressed and lay down to enter Reverie, which didn't take long. Unsurprisingly, he ended up going back many centuries to when he'd first met a human woman there. She was indeed the spitting image of Felicia. Same face, voice, eyes, body and golden hair. It was a wonder that he hadn't recognised her, but then again, it was long ago. They spoke at length about freedom, managed a glance at Arvandor, the elven afterlife – Jarlaxle remembered how just one look had changed him drastically – and made their promises to each other. She seemed even more beautiful in Reverie than in the waking world, as if more of her elven heritage came through. Then they were pulled apart by demonic darkness – him by Lolth and she by Lilith – but the vows had been made.

They would survive, overcome every obstacle laid out before them, find each other and seek the true meaning of freedom.

She had worn her holy symbol the whole time. No wonder it seemed familiar. What struck him the most, however, was the sensation of being around her in Reverie. He'd felt calm, light-hearted and warm. At least before that sensation was ripped away by the cold and evil embrace of the Spider Queen. Felicia might not be an angel herself, but she most certainly had connections. After all, no amount of Reverie for centuries afterwards had ever afforded him any more glances into Arvandor.

He woke up four hours later with significantly more clarity into current issues, as well as a whole new plan.

Felicia was coming with him.

 

* * *

 

 

Felicia didn't always enter Reverie. This night she'd slept like a normal human, although she'd dreamt of fire burning desert sand and dark, feathery wings turning white. It felt very... _prophetic_ , for lack of a better word, so after getting dressed she went about in search of something to write it down on. During that search she came across Jarlaxle who greeted her with a warm smile, a kiss on the cheek and breakfast already served.

“What kind of life did I just step into?” she asked, confused. Athrogate and Lucifer were already seated at the table, eating away at their food.

“Ye got married last night,” Athrogate remarked, “or did ya miss that rite?” Then he grinned snidely.

Felicia felt in the mood to retaliate. “In that case, am I to assume that the two of you are the children?”

Both cat and dwarf stopped eating and fixed her with deadly glares. A full belly laugh sounded from the drow. When the glares turned on him, however, it only made him laugh all the harder.

His laughter was contagious, and Felicia wore a smile on her face as she sat down opposite of Lucifer to eat. Jarlaxle joined her as soon as the worst of his merriment had died down. She helped herself to some fried eggs and bacon, as well as a green salad that the dwarf eyed suspiciously.

“You should try this dressing with it,” Jarlaxle suggested and picked up a bowl containing a white, creamy substance with some finely chopped herbs and greens in it. She eyed it in a way similar to how Athrogate regarded the greens, but the elf merely scooped up a spoonful of it and urged her to give it a try. Felicia regarded the spoon and then him. Was he actually looking to feed her?

She opened her mouth and in went the spoon. The flavour hit her taste buds immediately, and it was an unusual but delicious mix of things she hadn't tasted in all too long of a time. She expressed her pleasure with a smile and the spoon was removed. “Is that mint?” she asked after swallowing.

“Indeed,” the drow confirmed with a smile. “Do you recognise any other flavours?”

“Green onion,” she counted, earning a nod. “Lime... and coconut?”

“Correct on all of them,” the elf stated, looking very pleased with her. “You may have lived in a flying city, but it seems you were far from isolated.”

She briefly wondered if she should tell him the truth. “Actually, I spent only a few years of my life in Eileanar. Most of my memories from before that time were... removed.” She shrugged. “It could very well be that I used to travel, but like with many other things, I simply don't remember.”

An awkward silence settled and for a moment she wondered if she'd killed the entire conversation. Her eyes went from Jarlaxle to Athrogate and they had the exact same look of perplexity on their faces. She briefly wondered if they'd get stuck like that, but then a wry smile formed on the drow's face and he shook his head. “Ah, dearest Felicia, what a mystery you are!”

“To myself the most,” she agreed dryly, earning a snort from Athrogate and a chuckle from Jarlaxle. With the good mood restored, Felicia helped herself to the dressing, albeit with an unused spoon, and breakfast went by with nothing but friendly banter and the occasional joke. It was such a good atmosphere that she was unsure if any of it was real. Perhaps she was still asleep and dreaming up the whole thing? That certainly seemed more likely. At least, until she accidentally cut herself while slicing into some bread. The pain bit into her thumb and blood ran down her skin. She immediately stuck her finger in her mouth, earning a sigh and shake of the head from the drow who muttered something about “clumsy humans”. That earned him a glare, which in turn made him smirk.

Now _that_ seemed more realistic.

When breakfast was over, once everyone except the cat was dressed in clean clothes and another of Jarlaxle's wands was in the re-charger, did the quartet finally do what they'd come there to do – search the place.

The drow found a key with a skull on that Felicia knew was meant for her. She activated it, although all it did was force her to relive the memory of watching all the Netherese enclaves fall to the ground. Images of her sisters flashed briefly before her mind's eye, however, showing them in contraptions similar to hers, all of them kept in magical slumber. That, she instinctively knew, wasn't a memory, because she'd lost all contact with them some months before the fall, and their fate had remained unknown to her. In other words, it was a clue, one that she readily shared with the others.

“I don't know how it ties in with anything our father left behind for us, but it wouldn't hurt to look for the machines,” she argued, to which neither dwarf nor elf disagreed. They went about searching every layer, but they found neither contraptions nor keys. On the third level, however, Felicia remembered something very important, information imparted on her after completing her torchbearer initiation. “There's a portal here,” she said and went about clearing away debris until she beheld the strophalos carved into the wall. Her touch was enough to activate the magical doorway, although it resembled a black void rather than the shimmering blue that she'd found in the ruins. “It leads to a place far to the south-east. The other torchbearers spoke of evacuating there, as even the life-giving powers of the underground well were diminishing under the phaerimm's magic.”

“Do you remember what this place was called?” Jarlaxle asked as he eyed the portal.

There was a slight pause as she picked through her memories. “Unther.”

“That nation is caught up in a civil war,” the drow informed her, his tone and face grim. “We also don't know if any of your fellow faithful survived.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I can study this portal like I did the other one and gain a glimpse of what's on the other side. However, I don't know any scrying spells that can help me see beyond that, and even if I did, I'd have to know what area to scry in first.”

“I shall recover my wands while you do so, in case we need to go through it soon,” the drow said and rushed back up the stairs. Athrogate sat down on an empty, wooden crate and looked at her expectantly. She tried to remember more about the portal, but what information remained eluded her. Her mind could barely grasp it, and that frustrated her to no end, especially since a bad feeling settled in her stomach.

There was little else to do except to use the divine invocation used to study it, however, and she called upon Hekate to grant her that power. Her goddess responded with the usual swiftness and she stood still while observing the dark, swirly doorway before her. It was a two-way portal, she was pleased to announce, but it was a random one, meaning it had a specific condition set to it that she didn't know. It also seemed that only members of the church of Hekate could go through. She was afforded a glimpse of the other side by the time Jarlaxle returned, and what she saw was a dark tunnel. Whether that meant the portal would lead her inside a mountain, a cavern or even underground, she didn't know.

Jarlaxle wasn't pleased that he and Athrogate couldn't go through, but he didn't seem daunted by it either. A plan was formed after conferring with them both. Felicia wasn't overly fond of it, but once the drow gave her his precious wand of _greater invisibility_ , after which he'd assured her that he'd already helped himself to some down-payment on it, she felt somewhat more confident. She cast some protective spells on herself, picked up Lucifer, shot the two men quiet, grim nods and stepped through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some general info and explanations.
> 
> Yes, 1/4 elf humans can enter Reverie. Laeral Silverhand Arunson admitted she'd met Queen Amlaruil of Evermeet that way, and her human daughter Maura entered Reverie and beheld Arvandor, both events taking place in the book **Evermeet: Island of the Elves** by Elaine Cunningham. Most full-blooded drow can't enter Reverie, by contrast, as was explained in **Starlight & Shadows** by the same author. Salvatore neglected to mention this when he had Jarlaxle talk to Artemis about dreams, but fortunately it wasn't hard to fix.
> 
>  _Wlalth-chath_ invented from the drow words for "spell" and "fire", since I couldn't find a good translation for "spellfire". Also, have some Kimmuriel.


	15. Relocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroine arrives at the portal's destination only to find it wasn't where she thought it would be. Also, it seems the church of Hekate has fallen on some really rough times.

A hand came to cover her mouth as she settled down behind the two, large stone slabs. Her heart pounded madly in her chest and ears and it was all she could do to prevent her breathing from being heard. Sweat ran down her face, chest and back. Her clothes were soaked after running for Hekate knew how long, and she'd scraped her knees and hands as she'd slipped in through the crack that separated the pair of stones. For an adult it was impossible to get through, but for a ten-year old, especially one as skinny as her, it had been no problem. Now she had to wait for her hunters to give up the search.

She'd been able to elude them the whole way, fortunately, and since they were crazy, superstitious idiots that eschewed magic, they wouldn't employ any spells to track her. Still, they were searching the place frantically for survivors, any survivors, to bring outside. She didn't want to be brought outside. Not to where the burnt corpses of Hekate's clerics were piled up high.

Aglaia managed to stay silent, her chest rising and falling at a slower pace than before. Through the crack she saw the senior torchbearer get dragged out of the complex by a pair of Luthcheq soldiers. She was Aglaia's mentor, the one who had looked after her and been like a mother to her. A lump formed in her throat and a stabbing sensation struck her chest, the metaphorical dagger twisting around in the wound when she later heard the woman's dying screams and the sound of roaring flames. The scent of burnt flesh hit her again and made her nauseous.

“Justice has been served this day!” The fanatical voice of Theodosius Karanok resonated through the halls and burned itself into her mind. “Soldiers of Luthcheq, you've done well in purging this world of witchcraft and sorcery! Two more temples remain, however, for the vile Hekate has three forms according to the lore! Return to camp to get some rest and look after your weapons. They'll need to stay sharp for the next slaughter. In a few hours we resume the attack.” Then came the sound of retreating footsteps from far more people than she'd seen inside the mountain caves. It was a deafening beat that stayed in her heart as it pounded away, a slowly growing anger replacing the fear.

 _Justice_? What justice was there to be found in attacking people simply for existing? What had Hekate's faithful done to these people, exactly? Some were simply Untheric refugees fleeing the war, others native Chessentans who had converted from the silent faith of Tchazzar. Aglaia herself was one of those converts. What they all had in common was how they'd found their way to these places through the guidance and gentle coaxing of Hekate's clerics.

What she didn't understand was how the soldiers of Luthcheq had overrun this place so easily. After all, clerics of Tchazzar had commanded terrible retributive powers against anyone who threatened their church. Where, then, was the sacred fire that the tales spoke of? Hekate's command over the sky, earth and sea? Not even any powers related to caverns could be seen, or magical portals activated through which they could escape. Instead they'd been trapped by the soldiers and priestesses and priests had been defeated without uttering so much as a single invocation.

Did Hekate even exist? Tears sprung forth from her eyes, grief that she'd held back for the sake of survival, and now it came out in full force. She hugged her knees tightly and cried into them, a seemingly never-ending ocean of tears that caused her nose to run. Her child form was wracked with sobs, trembling as the sounds came out, though fortunately she was all alone now.

Once the worst of her crying was over and the tears dried up came the inevitable question of what to _do_. She couldn't stay in her little hiding place, that much was certain. Crawling back out through the crack, she managed to get all the way out only to hear more footsteps approach.

“Seems like a little rat managed to elude us after all,” snarled a male voice in Chessentan and she looked up in time to see two soldiers approach. Aglaia quickly got up on her feet and ran away, deeper into the complex. “Hey!” she heard one of the soldiers call out and it didn't take long before she heard them pick up the pace as well. Her heart pounded madly in her chest and although she could run fast for her age, the men were taller and had longer legs. She was also drained from running earlier and being stuck in the same position for gods knew how long. The men caught up to her easily. She was grabbed by the collar of her acolyte dress and hoisted up in the air, kicking and screaming. Her legs were seized next by the other man, however, both of whom laughed mercilessly. Aglaia kept struggling in their grip to the best of her ability and even managed to punch one the soldier who held her by her dress, in the face. He made a funny sound when she did.

“You brat!” his partner yelled and kneed her in the groin. The air was knocked out of her and the nausea from before returned. Up came both lunch and breakfast, decorating the ground as well as the soldiers' sandals. “Ack! You're going to pay for that!”

Before either of the soldiers could make good on that threat, however, the one she'd punched let go of her with a surprised yelp and she fell to the ground, held up only by her legs. Her shirt and chest got covered in vomit. The man's comrade yelled his name only to let go of her and draw his sword. She landed with an 'oof'. Another yelp sounded, this time from the one with a weapon in his hand. Aglaia was still in pain from the kneeing, but she managed to look up just as a woman stepped towards them, seemingly stepping out of the shadows themselves and a small, black, furry cat trailing her feet.

“Picking on a child, are you?” the woman said in the simplified trade language known as Common. “Hekate doesn't look kindly upon those who commit such acts.”

Aglaia's heart skipped a beat and she looked further up. The woman had an elegant step to her that didn't seem entirely human, as well as long, wavy hair. She wore simple clothes, but her posture and bearing didn't resemble that of a commoner. In the torchlight of the tunnel could the girl see the woman's pale skin, like porcelain, and her golden hair the colour of honey. She recalled having read something about a torchbearer like that, who was Netherese of all things, but she had disappeared over one-thousand-seven-hundred years ago. It was one of her favourite stories, but the clerics had little other reading material about her to offer.

“Hekate is dead,” growled one of the soldiers. Aglaia looked his way to see both soldiers were stuck to the stone wall, held in place by large, translucent hands. She was accustomed to the sight of magic – Chessenta's city-states all hosted their standing army of war wizards, apart from Luthcheq and Airspur – and she knew the spells before her were powerful.

The Netherese had been powerful.

“Hekate is very much alive,” the woman shot back before stepping up to the girl. Then she crouched down beside her. “Are you alright?” Her voice, which had been harsh and cold towards the men, was nothing but warm and compassionate when applied to her.

“My stomach hurts,” Aglaia managed to say in Common with a heavy Chessentan accent.

“Would you turn over on your back for me, please?” the powerful mage asked her, and it felt odd that she would be so polite when she clearly had the power to force the girl to do as she wished. Aglaia obeyed instinctively, as if trusting this stranger was the most natural thing to do. The woman's hands came to rest on her stomach and then the most amazing thing happened.

It started with a chant that called upon Hekate. While Aglaia only understood the “Hekate” part, it didn't sound like anything the clerics here would even think to do. She fully expected nothing to happen, as had been the norm prior to and during the attack by the Luthcheq forces, but when the mysterious woman's hands lit up with a bright, white light that soothed her abdominal pain, she knew very well how wrong she was. Sounds of disbelief came from the soldiers, and that brought about a strong sense of vindication for the child. Her goddess _was_ real and very much alive! The looks on the men's faces were particularly enjoyable.

After healing her, the mystery woman removed her hands and offered her a friendly smile. “Which country am I in, young one?”

“Chessenta,” Aglaia replied honestly.

“What part of Chessenta?” the woman pressed.

“A mountain range known as the Riders to the Sky,” the child explained. “It's on the border of Unther, east of the city of Luthcheq. It's inhabited by bandits, trolls and duergar, mostly, but we followers of Hekate have made our home here as well.”

“This place is inhabited by dragons as well,” one of the soldiers hissed and grinned viciously, as if he hoped to frighten the woman. “Several undead and coloured ones.”

“How did you know that?” his companion asked him in Untheric.

“I've got relatives living in Mordulkin,” was all he said in response.

“One of our greatest enemies?” The question came out like a snarl. “Where wizards and sorcerers are allowed to roam freely?”

“None of my relatives know magic,” came the loud and angry reply.

“But they associate with them,” the other one snapped right back.

“So? I don't!”

Their faces contorted in rage, but no sound came from their mouths as they continued arguing. Aglaia looked up to see the mage have her finger pointed at them. It didn't take long for the soldiers to realise what had happened. They turned angry glares on the woman next, but trapped to the wall as they were, they were powerless to do anything about it. The sight of that brought a smile to Aglaia's face.

Her view was blocked as the mage came to crouch before her, however. “This way they can't read lips,” she said. “My name is Felicia Helenus. What's yours?”

“Aglaia,” the girl replied.

“Aglaia,” Felicia said, her voice warm and motherly. “You remind me of a friend of mine from long ago, though your skin is darker, no doubt from all the sun you get this far south.” She smiled. “The _silence_ spell won't last long, so could you please tell me what part of the mountain range we're in? North, south, east, west, middle?”

“North-west,” she informed her. “We have three temples, all of whom are well outside the perimeter of grey dwarves and trolls both, and ancient magic keeps both races out.”

“But not fellow humans, I take it?” the woman stated more than asked and indicated the men behind them. Aglaia swallowed hard and nodded. “Do these wards protect against any other creatures?”

“Creatures of the Lower Planes,” the girl listed, “evil undead, aberrations, dragons, orcs, goblinoids, gnolls, reptilians, giants, shapeshifters and aquatic creatures, oozes, vermin, evil dwarves and elves and evil outsiders. Though the wards tend to move around in irregular patterns, so there's no telling which one will show up where.”

The woman smiled. “Good.” Then she closed her eyes and went into the casting of another spell. Her eyes remained closed for a while and there was a slight upturn of one corner of her lips before she opened her eyes again. “I've invited some friends to join us. I trust that won't be a problem.” Her smile widened only to die down as she rose and turned around to look at the trapped warriors. They glared at her in response. “Tell me, what have you done to the clerics of this place?” Aglaia found she had the strength to get back up and did so.

The men remained quiet, their eyes going back and forth. Felicia offered up a prayer and drew a circle around them only to repeat the question. This time their faces twisted in strange ways. “We killed them. Burned them at the stake.”

“Why?” she pressed.

This one they had no problem responding to. “Because they follow a vile goddess of witchcraft, magic and sorcery! Hekate, like Mystra, is the very epitome of everything we oppose!”

“I see,” Felicia said with a remarkable amount of calm. “In that case, only one form of punishment seems fitting.” She went into the casting of another spell, although this one manifested so quickly it caught Aglaia by surprise. From the mage's fingertips sprung two rays of hot, searing, magical fire, striking both warriors at once, though a third ray hit the one on the left as well. The men screamed in pain as the flames licked away at their bodies, though Felicia was far from done. She cast more fiery rays at them, three more times, the girl counted. Burnt flesh wafted through the tunnel and the smoke made Aglaia cough and her eyes water. Next to her, the cat sneezed something fierce. The men's screams had died away eventually and then the girl's hand was grabbed. “Let's get out of here,” Felicia suggested and the girl nodded. Next thing she knew she was pulled through a translucent, shimmering doorway. They ended up outside under a scorchingly hot sun and the sight of numerous burnt bodies, most of them women.

Despite the previous victory and the sight of Hekate's favour, witnessing so much destruction wrought against her fellow faithful struck the girl in her gut and tore out a cry of pain. She collapsed on the ground, tears running down her cheeks, and her form trembling with sobs. Yet again. This time, however, she was embraced and had someone's shoulder to cry on. Felicia held her tight, apparently not the least bit bothered by the smell of vomit. The girl heard her chant something, and then there was a long silence. Suddenly booted feet appeared before Aglaia's eyes, one pair stout and broad and the other slim and long.

“Are we late?” a melodious, male voice asked and Felicia let go of the girl. Her cat appeared to take her place and Aglaia's tears dried up quickly as she heard the beautiful creature's resounding purr. She even giggled a bit when the cat's playfulness took hold and it started grabbing her fingers. “Such a... _charming_ scene,” the male voice from before cut in sarcastically and the girl's attention was stolen away from the impish feline. “Are these your fellow clerics?” Her blue-green eyes looked up from the man's boots to behold a hated drow. Aglaia's jaw dropped, though not due to the lack of hair on his head, and she immediately shied away in fear even though the dark elf had yet to look at her. Lucifer fell out of her lap and, after rolling back up on his feet, sent a quizzical look her way.

“There's one survivor,” Felicia informed the elf and the fact that she stood so close to him, fearless and friendly in her tone, made the girl think she was a traitor to her race. Her entire form started trembling with fear, for surely something horrible would be done to her by these evil people.

The drow's eyes went to Aglaia, but instead of mockery, hostility or indifference, as she would have expected, the look on his face was strangely warm and friendly. Not that she would be taken in by that – she'd heard of how tricky these creatures could be, after all. Her fear was quickly replaced with caution.

“Jarlaxle and Athrogate, meet Aglaia,” the mage introduced all the same. “I found her inside, being beaten up by two soldiers.”

“Ye'd better not have let them flee,” the dwarf cut in, his eyes dark and his voice serious, “and that there still be some left fer me.”

“I fear their execution couldn't wait,” the woman replied back calmly. While Aglaia had appreciated that calmness before, now, in the presence of this dark elf, it sent chills down her spine. “I couldn't risk them informing the others about my presence, and Jarlaxle can't enter this place because of the wards.”

Did Felicia just admit to the drow being evil? Yet she'd brought him here? What trust the girl felt towards the priestess vanished with the wind.

“As glad as I am that a pair of child beaters were suitably punished, it appears our survivor is wary of us,” the dark elf named Jarlaxle pointed out. He removed his hat and bowed to the girl. “It pleases me greatly that you managed to survive, Aglaia.” The hat returned to his head and he approached. She moved further away. “I understand your fears, child, and in most cases they are justified.” He crouched before her, which did nothing to make him appear less threatening, and his perfectly charming smile failed to set her at ease. “Felicia saved you, did she not? She also punished the two men who mistreated you?”

Aglaia slowly nodded. “She did.”

“Jarlaxle has saved my life on several occasions,” Felicia supplied, though she didn't approach. “He doesn't serve the church, nor does Athrogate, but they have lent their aid to me and I've come to trust them. I wouldn't have agreed to bring them here otherwise.”

“Why are you here, exactly?” the acolyte asked, looking between all three of them.

“I'm searching for clues,” the priestess explained. “Clues to memories as well as whatever inheritance my father left me. We searched the old temple in the Anauroch desert, but we didn't find anything, so we figured that what I was searching for had been moved to Unther. We found the ancient portal and activated it, but instead we ended up here.”

“That's because the faithful moved here to Chessenta in the wake of the rise of Gilgeam,” Aglaia was quick to explain in return. “They brought everything here, including lots of chests and some strange machines.”

Felicia took a step closer, curiosity and expectation both strong on her face. “Machines? What kind of machines? Was there anyone inside?”

“Yes,” the girl explained and the look of relief and joy on the woman's face caught her by surprise. “Women and children.” She stopped when she saw Felicia's lower lip tremble. Tears ran down her cheeks shortly afterwards, though she smiled.

The most surprising part, however, was when the elf put his arm around her. “It seems a good portion of your family is still alive.” He gave her upper arm a squeeze and the woman nodded. She tried wiping her eyes, but the tears seemed endless. Instead of awkwardly trying to disengage himself, which Aglaia would have expected from someone evil, the drow instead fully embraced the woman and let her weep.

He had to be the most peculiar dark elf in the world, and not just in how he dressed himself. Aglaia got up on her feet, albeit slowly, and took a few steps closer to the trio. She patiently waited for the worst of Felicia's sobs to die down before she spoke, however. “The senior torchbearers know where those machines can be found, but we can't help you while we're under attack. Could you please help us defeat our enemies?”

There was a moment's silence. “Felicia?” Jarlaxle asked and the woman gave a short nod. “It seems Her Highness has decided, then.” The drow said with a grin. “As for me, I'm a mercenary and so is my companion.” He indicated the dwarf with his hand. Athrogate, it seemed, had busied himself with picking his nose. “I trust you understand the price will be steep, my dear?” His eyes went to the woman in his arms who finally seemed able to dry her tears. She pulled out of the embrace and, although sniffling, managed to speak.

“It depends on what we find of my inheritance,” she said, “but I trust gold and magical items will suffice?”

The drow grabbed her hand and kissed it. “You have me persuaded.”

While she no longer felt immediately threatened by him, Aglaia had yet to feel impressed. “So you offer up hugs for money?” she asked.

He regarded her with a surprised look and shook his head. “No, my services as a mercenary are offered up for money. Beautiful and capable princesses in a moment of distress will always find my comforting embrace to be freely given.”

“You've done that to a lot of them, have you?” she pressed.

“I like to think of myself as a philanthropist,” he argued.

“You seem more like a lecher,” she countered dryly. The indignation came quickly to his face, but even faster was the sound of laughter from Felicia and Athrogate.

“And it seems to me that you want me to increase the price for aiding you,” he countered coldly, confirming every prejudice Aglaia had about evil drow. She noticed the human and dwarf had stopped laughing.

Felicia clapped her hands together. “That's quite enough out of the two of you! Aglaia, as entertaining as your remark was, and we can all appreciate such blunt honesty, a little friendliness will go a long way.”

The girl muttered an apology. Felicia's eyes went to Jarlaxle.

“Apology accepted,” he said, though he didn't sound the least bit sincere. It seemed Aglaia had hit a nerve. Judging from the mage's continued silence, it seemed she'd picked up on it as well.

“You will have to settle things later,” she argued. “For now we have some clerics to find and save.” Just as she finished that sentence did an explosion sound in the mountains further south. It was close enough to make the ground beneath them tremble and Aglaia fell down with a yelp. Jarlaxle managed to catch Felicia and Athrogate remained on his feet with no trouble. Lucifer merely lay down. Once the worst of the shaking was over did all five of them move further away from the mountain to a rocky outcropping that afforded them a better view. Smoke rose from where the explosion had taken place and Luthcheq soldiers swarmed the newly created opening, like ants.

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Aglaia's stomach and despair overcame her. They were too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing a new character in this chapter - Aglaia, Chessentan 10-year old, sassy rogue who went to the temple to learn both arcane and divine magic.
> 
> Her chibi (considerably older) can be found on deviantArt.


	16. Enemies of magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To magic or not to magic. Is that even a question?

Just like last time, there was no battle. The thundering footsteps of the soldiers mixed with the sound of screams from the priestesses and frightened children. All of the clerics were dragged out without barely putting up a fight, another group of soldiers putting together the stakes to burn the women on. Like in the other temple, the children soon grew quiet. Aglaia's entire form trembled. She would have shared their fate had she not found a hiding spot.

One of the priestesses screamed at Theodosius Karanok and received a backhanded slap to the face from a soldier for her efforts. Aglaia had heard it, though. “ _What kind of fiends murder children? You're not human!_ ” Tears sprung forth from the girl's eyes, interrupted only when she heard Felicia's voice.

“I can create a doorway through the stone,” she said to her three companions. “That way we can slip into the complex while the soldiers are busy with the priestesses and save the children.”

“There's no point,” the girl cut in, nothing but apathy in her voice. “They're all dead.”

“If that was the case, wouldn't we see the soldiers who killed them reunite with the others by now?” Jarlaxle suggested.

“They could be searching the rest of the complex for survivors,” Felicia argued. “Either way there's too many soldiers outside for us to be able to save the priestesses, and it's doubtful that we can get to their leader for that same reason.”

“There's still too many soldiers inside the temple to my liking,” the drow countered, his eyes glued on the scene below. “I don't know why these men seem so intent on attacking your church, Felicia, but surely if we play our cards right, we might be able to negotiate with them?”

“No,” Aglaia argued and turned to face them. “They won't listen to any of you. The Karanok family of Luthcheq hate arcane magic of all kind. They don't kill just mages or those who worship deities tied to magic, they hunt down and kill elves and dwarves as well.”

The quartet became very quiet. Looking at the drow in particular, she saw deep-seated rage in his uncovered eye, though it passed quickly. Aglaia knew that anger wasn't directed at her, but it left her feeling terrified all the same.

“Me people don't care fer mages either,” Athrogate cut in, his eyes a mix of anger and confusion.

The girl shrugged. “They think dwarves are earth wizards.”

“Must be that skilled craftsmanship you keep bragging about,” Jarlaxle cut in, but even though he was teasing his companion, his smile looked half-hearted. The dwarf glared back, but his expression softened when he saw the grim look in the drow's eye.

“I suppose we can safely conclude, then, that the Karanoks aren't working with the duergar to oust you,” Felicia concluded, which was something Aglaia hadn't even considered. “Not that I think they'd try to ally with trolls.”

“I'm sure we can contemplate their methods any other time,” the drow quipped, “but for now we have more _urgent_ matters at hand, wouldn't you say?”

Felicia nodded. “We'll need a distraction.”

“Bwahahahaha,” Athrogate roared and then he picked out a small, black figurine of a boar. “Snort, the cat piss is gone! Come out, ye durned stubborn pig!” It had to be the most disrespectful summoning Aglaia had ever heard. The figurine reacted all the same, dissipating into black smoke before manifesting into a hellish boar, one that immediately set about making angry noises at the dwarf. “I know ye're upset, but we've got killing to do and chaos ta sow!” The boar grew quiet, its tail wagging. “Aye, it'll be fun, I promise!” They went into a conversation of their own as Jarlaxle stepped up to Felicia and brought her a good distance away from the others. They seemed to discuss what the child guessed was a plan. Aglaia waited patiently, but fortunately it didn't take long for them to return.

Felicia stepped up to her and extended her hand for her to take. “Come,” she said, “let's save the children. Jarlaxle and Athrogate will do what they can for the priestesses.”

Aglaia took her hand, but not before sending the drow a pleading look. She knew there was probably no saving all of them, and she also knew that dark elves weren't in the habit of saving humans, rather quite the opposite. If she had no other choice but to leave this in his hands, however, then she would gauge his character with her own eyes.

His expression was unreadable, but he had seen the look she sent him. “Let's go,” Felicia's gentle voice urged her and the girl turned away from the elf. Hekate curse him hundred times over if he betrayed them, she thought, and then she guided the woman to where the first temple's walls connected with the second.

 

* * *

 

 

Arjîn of Unther watched as her fellow priestesses were gathered together and made to sit in an outward-pointing circle. All around them stood fully armed soldiers – hoplites, with their broad shields, spears, short swords and daggers. She was only fourteen summers herself, but already she felt nothing but deep loathing for these men.

The searing hot sun shone down on them, guaranteeing that the flames of the stakes would burn brightly upon their executions. It was almost a better fate to be killed by spears and swords inside the temple, but Arjîn had made her pledge to Hekate and there was no going back. Her faith was unchanged, however, even as Theodosius Karanok circled them and loudly proclaimed Hekate to be dead. The priestesses had yet to manifest any of the divine spells that the torchbearers of the past were known for, but Arjîn suspected that this was due to the rituals having changed too much over time. The Unther-Chessentan church of Hekate, while a shelter and a place to learn, sported none of the great powers of the past and was really more of a remembrance club and archive.

She had a feeling that was about to change. A sensation in the air spoke to her on an intuitive level and carried on the wind a promise of greatness soon to return. Whether or not she would live to see it, however, was doubtful.

Sweat ran down her body, not just from the summer heat but also the close proximity of the other women. The Karanok nutcase had at this point reached what he probably believed to be the climax of his speech, though it sounded more like insane ramblings to Arjîn, and then he pointed to the temple with a dramatic flourish. “Behold, foul witches!” If only. “The children you thought you could corrupt have been cleansed!”

A long silence followed. Everyone waited for the Luthcheq soldiers to appear with the heads of dead children, or whatever other gruesome spectacle they had planned in order to demoralise the priestesses.

No-one came.

“Soldiers of Luthcheq still inside the temple!” Theodosius called out. “It's time to release the prisoners!”

A single figure stepped out into the sunlight, revealing a woman dressed in simple clothes and with long, honey-coloured hair on her head. She pointed what looked like a stick against the side of her throat and then her voice rang out as loud and clear as if she stood right before them. “Your soldiers are dead, Theodosius Karanok! Hekate lives and She has come to wreak Her vengeance upon you!”

Looking closer, Arjîn saw the woman held something in her hand. She tossed it at them before she could study it further. It soared through the air and hit the shield of one of the soldiers before landing on the ground. Arjîn saw the head of one of the soldiers who had stayed inside. Before anything could be said, three children appeared behind her and threw three more heads at them. One of those children was Aglaia, Arjîn recognised. They had travelled to the temples together but had been separated upon arrival.

Confused murmurs could be heard among the soldiers surrounding the priestesses. “Don't stand about, men!” Theodosius shouted at them, apparently not the least bit discouraged. “Kill them! It's just one woman and a group of children! She may have caught the others by surprise, but she's no match for you!”

A group of soldiers broke off from the rest and rushed up to the opening. The woman and children fled inside and while Arjîn was pleased that some measure of justice had taken place, she struggled to see how they were going to fend off that many warriors. She also wondered if the remaining children were safe. Arjîn was more focused on martial pursuits over the scholarly ones, but she had a feeling she should know that stranger. The fact that she seemed a follower of the same goddess as the Untheric certainly helped.

“Felicia,” muttered the woman next to her, a stranger who had been kept in a magical machine and only recently woke up. She had been given the clothes of the acolytes and the Luthcheqs had probably assumed she was one of the clerics. “You crazy woman, what are you planning?”

“You know her?” Arjîn asked and the pale, dark-haired woman turned to look at her.

A wry smile formed on the stranger's lips. “Yeah. The Luthcheqs are done for.”

Shortly after came the sound of screams from the soldiers that had rushed up to the temple. Arjîn looked up to see a huge gout of flame gush out of the opening, catching all the warriors and burning them alive, as if a powerful red or gold dragon had awaited them the entire time.

Delighted – if not wicked and deranged – laughter sounded from the stranger next to her. “That's what happens when you eschew magic, you idiots!” She continued to laugh, even as Theodosius ordered his men to kill her. Two of the soldiers levied their spears at her, and Arjîn was certain they would all die.

“How is magic going to save you now, witch?” Theodosius Karanok snarled right back, a mad look on his face.

In response, the stranger merely smiled.

The men before her suddenly dropped their spears and jerked back awkwardly, their _pteruges_ , the flaps, or “wings” as they were sometimes referred to, that served to protect their upper legs, flying up seemingly by themselves. The stranger looked from one man's crotch to the next, going from approval to scepticism. “Well, that confirms it,” the woman said, “you really _do_ wear nothing under your skirts.”

Arjîn was afraid to ask.

In one, swift motion did the woman have the men's spears in her hands, taking full advantage of their confusion, and used the wooden shafts to strike them in the areas she'd just remarked upon. Groans of pain sounded and their knees gave out beneath them. The stranger didn't wait for them to recover, and flipped their spears around so the spearheads faced them instead. Two of their comrades, standing on either side of the pair, pointed their spears at her. Arjîn and her childhood friend and a fellow priestess, Chira, jumped these men, however, disrupting their balance and grabbing a hold of their spears so they had trouble using them. The woman that Arjîn had yet to learn the name of pushed her stolen spears into the distracted men's throats. Choked sounds came from both and Arjîn let go of the man she was on the back of.

Chira wasn't as fast, however, and even as the man she was on top of died did another soldier strike her in the back with his spear. Arjîn cried out and rushed to help her friend, but she was too late. The sharp end of the weapon got buried deep and the girl coughed up blood, her eyes wide with disbelief. A full fight broke out between warriors and clerics, with the pale stranger leading the charge by stealing spears from the warriors she felled and tossing them to the priestesses. The only thing Arjîn could think to catch, however, was the dead body of her best friend. She found that the spear had become solidly lodged inside Chira's back, but much to Arjîn's and the soldier's surprise, the girl was still alive. Her breathing was even, suggesting that her vital organs had been spared.

Not that it was going to last long. The soldier drew the short sword on his hip, apparently meaning to kill them.

As if Hekate Chthonia had decided to intervene directly did the ground beneath the soldier crumble. Green grass and dirt became a dark hole that he disappeared into with a yelp, the whole thing happening so fast the only thing Arjîn could do was grab her friend and pull her away as fast as her legs could carry her.

The arrival of the mysterious hole wasn't all that happened, however. Out of it, defying gravity itself, came a dark elf and a dwarf, the latter of which immediately jumped down on the ground and pulled out a small figurine. He shouted something in his dwarfish tongue that rhymed and from the figurine did a boar that smelled, looked and _felt_ like some vile creature from the Lower Planes appear. The drow was next, summoning forth a hellish horse that did nothing to settle the queasy feeling in the priestess' stomach. Both men then mounted the creatures and set off into a spirited charge straight into the Luthcheq ranks. Fire, smoke, daggers and deadly morningstar swings followed in their wake, creating a clear path of destruction.

Considering what immense level of hatred the Luthcheqs had for elves and dwarves, Arjîn figured the two newcomers weren't there to help Theodosius Karanok. It was still the first time she'd ever seen a drow come to the rescue of a group of humans.

“Arjîn,” Chira managed to say, still breathing. The girl's attention returned to her friend.

“I'm here,” she told her friend reassuringly. “We will get the spear out of your back and find you healing magic. Hekate is alive, you heard?”

A small smile grew on Chira's face. “Yes, she lives. But Arjîn, I can't feel my legs.” Her smile disappeared and Arjîn's face fell.

“That's no problem,” proclaimed a now familiar voice, and both girls looked up to see the troublemaking woman who had started the entire battle. She had a spear in one hand and had somehow procured an axe that she held in the other. Both weapons dripped with blood. “Lift her up and I'll chop off the spear enough so we can move her. My sister has opened a doorway that will take us to safety.”

“Who are you?” Arjîn demanded. She hadn't witnessed any of the priestesses display such skill with weapons, let alone behave the way she did.

“I'm a ranger of Hekate and a daughter of Karsus,” the woman quipped. “How do you do. Felicia, the crazy blonde woman who can summon fire like a dragon, is my sister by the same father. She, of course, was his favourite, and no, that's not necessarily a good thing.”

“Do you have a _name_?” the girl pressed, not caring for how she'd ramble in the middle of a battle.

The woman grinned. “Adeline.” Then she sat down next to them and helped Chira sit up. She chopped off the shaft of the spear with her axe. “I will need you to carry her on your side.” With some careful manoeuvring did they manage to lift her and carry her out of immediate reach of the battle. Several priestesses followed, apparently having successfully disengaged from the warriors. No doubt the Luthcheqs considered the dwarf and drow more dangerous and had changed their tactics accordingly. They weren't wrong.

“Stop,” Adeline ordered and then turned to Chira. “When you see Felicia on the other side, tell her to change the weather or I will be very cross with her.” Then she leaned forward a bit. “Felicia, we have an injured priestess coming through! She took a spear in the back and can't feel her legs!”

There was a moment's silence. “Send her through!” came a female voice from seemingly nowhere. Adeline and Arjîn obeyed and the priestess watched as her friend disappeared into thin air. She blinked only to get a pat on the shoulder from the daughter of Karsus.

“In the church of Hekate you have no choice but to get used to magic,” she said with a smile. “Now come, I believe we have some colleagues of yours to save from the heat of battle.”

Several more clerics disappeared through the doorway. Some of them bled profusely, one from her eye, another from her thigh and a third one from her scalp.

“How are you able to see where the doorway is?” Arjîn asked Adeline.

The pale woman smiled sardonically. “One does not simply get born to the likes of Karsus and not learn magic.” Then she grabbed Arjîn by the shoulder. “Go, save our fellow faithful!”

Obeying, the girl paused in her steps when she saw the devastation that dwarf and drow had brought. Those soldiers that weren't bleeding from their throats or hadn't had their skulls bashed in by the dwarf were either on fire or fleeing. A good amount of priestesses lay among the fallen, some of them still alive, while others were doing their best to tend to them, but all in all it seemed the battle was over. Theodosius was nowhere to be found, either. He'd probably run off, the cowardly hypocrite. “Do we even need to retreat?” she asked, but even as the words slipped past her lips did the sound of a war-horn reach her ears. It was soon followed up by the sound of approaching footsteps and beating hooves, the noise so resounding it was as if a thunderstorm was upon them.

It came from the south and she turned in that direction to see a whole contingent of more Luthcheq soldiers approach. This time it wasn't just hoplites, but also toxotes and heavily armoured hippikons. The hoplites were annoying enough with the reach of their spears, but the toxotes had an even greater range with their bows and the hippikons had added speed thanks to their horses. Looking even further up, she saw not one, but _two_ Karanoks on horseback, watching the battle unfold below them. Theodosius, she noticed, had joined the hippikons, leading the charge.

It seemed they had prepared for the possibility of Hekate's priestesses fighting back. Arjîn wasn't sure whether to be concerned or take it as a compliment.

There was no time for contemplation. She rushed forth to inform the other priestesses of the way out. She got them up and running only for many to be shot down by arrows.

“Shoot them in their legs!” Theodosius yelled at the top of his lungs, his sword held high and a fanatically delighted look on his face. “We shall burn these witches yet!”

A fiery explosion took out a large number of toxotes and Arjîn noticed the drow had what could only be a wand pointed at them. Arrows rained down on him, but they bounced off against a shield large enough to protect both him and his mount. The girl and what priestesses could still stand took advantage of the distraction and helped their fallen kin get to where Adeline stood. Through the magical doorway they went, and although the hippikons had drawn dangerously close did Arjîn run back to help one last priestess who was limping, an arrow protruding from her lower leg.

The dwarf caught up to her before she did, however, and he got the woman up on his boar and carried her over to the portal faster than Arjîn could move. It seemed the battle was indeed nearing its end, the drow moving to retreat as well, even after literally burning up what remained of the archers. Arjîn moved to do the same, but she was immediately surrounded by mounted soldiers. One of them, of course, was Theodosius. He wore a triumphant look on his face, despite his numerous losses and failure to kill most of Hekate's faithful in the second temple. Judging from the slightly unhinged look in his eyes, however, it didn't seem as if he was completely unaffected.

Breaking through their ranks like a knife through butter came the drow on his nightmare mount. The fiendish horse snorted fire on its mortal kin and the elf's blades sent several warriors to the ground. He tossed daggers at Theodosius next, the nobleman able to deflect them with his shield, but losing much of his previous momentum. Next thing Arjîn knew, the dark elf was before her, his hand outstretched her way, as if urging her to take it. She hesitated for only a split second, but that hesitation would cost her. The priestess grabbed him by the arm and he her, and Theodosius let out a loud “no!” even as she was pulled up. Then she felt a sharp pain bite into one knee and then the other.

Her body felt lighter all of a sudden and the drow's uncovered eye widened. Arjîn looked behind her to see a dismounted hippikon, his sword bloodied and held in both hands at the end of a sweeping motion. On the ground lay her lower legs, cut cleanly off at the knees. Blood rushed forth and the pain was unlike any she'd ever experienced. Her eyes went back to the dark elf and she fully expected her to drop him. As ruthless as they were to humans, their treatment was even worse for cripples.

To her surprise, she had been the one to let go, not him, and so she was dangling by his grip alone. A hundred thoughts went through her all at once, creating a mess of feelings to war with each other, but piercing through it all came a remarkably strong will to survive. Gritting her teeth and deciding to defy fate itself, she grabbed his arm once more. Their eyes met in that moment and, upon seeing her determination, the drow smiled and pulled her up on his mount.

“Grab hold of me!” he shouted to her in Common and she obeyed, already feeling dizzy with the blood loss. Another explosion sounded somewhere, followed up by the dwarf's signature laughter, and the nightmare barrelled straight into Theodosius' horse, effectively setting it on fire. The man barely saved himself by dismounting in a most ungraceful manner.

Steering the hellish mount with one hand, the elf picked out a glowing orb with the other. It lit up and she saw its white energy pour into her. The pain in her knees disappeared almost immediately and she looked back to see the bleeding had stopped. She also saw how fast the nightmare was, as the Luthcheq soldiers quickly disappeared into the distance, the dwarf and boar hot on their trail. Adeline, she saw, was nowhere to be found. Arjîn hoped she'd fled.

The drow brought them up into the mountains and past the second temple to a wide open area surrounded by large, sharp rocks and a treacherous descent. Adeline, Chira, the woman named Felicia, the children and the surviving priestesses had all gathered there. Of course, the nightmare had no trouble getting down, floating above the ground as it did, and once she was among her fellows did two priestesses help the elf lower her to the ground. She sent him a confused look, but thanked him all the same, to which he gave her a tilt of his hat.

“It's not every day I see such determination to survive from someone who's lost their lower legs,” he replied with a wide grin, nothing but admiration in his eye and voice. Arjîn blinked, unsure what to make of him.

The dwarf arrived with a triumphant roar and dismounted easily enough, the boar disappearing into black smoke and becoming a figurine once more. After putting away the magical item, he stepped up to the wounded priestesses, washed his hands in a bowl prepared for that particular purpose and set to work on cleaning their wounds. The dark elf dismounted next, his nightmare disappearing in a fashion similar to the boar.

Together with the drow, Felicia and Adeline was the dwarf able to repair much of the damage done. Chira had the spearhead removed from her spine only for Felicia to cast a spell on her back that brought life back into her legs. That was nothing short of a miracle in Arjîn's eyes, though Felicia merely smiled when she pointed it out.

“It's no miracle,” she said. “It's just the will of Hekate. All of my divine invocations are.”

Tears of joy sprung forth from every priestess gathered and many embraces were shared.

“Some of the priestesses survived!” Aglaia reported to Felicia, suddenly appearing next to Arjîn. “The Luthcheqs are setting up stakes as we speak. It doesn't seem like the remaining clerics will face merciful deaths.”

A rumbling sound could be heard overhead. Adeline sniggered. Arjîn felt confusion wash over her, but soon enough dark and ominous clouds appeared, heading straight in the direction of the Luthcheq forces. The closer they got, she saw, the bigger the clouds became. Given enough time, they would undoubtedly consume the entire sky.

“Let's get everyone safely evacuated to the last temple,” Felicia said and then went into something that Arjîn guessed was spellcasting. Not long after people got up and disappeared through another one of her invisible doors. The children and wounded went first, but Arjîn noticed Felicia lingered. She asked her why. “I feel the need to further demoralise our enemies. They haven't suffered nearly enough blows to their confidence to my liking.” Then she disappeared into thin air, and while the young priestess could no longer see her, she could soon hear her voice ring out over the mountains.

“Fire and magic aren't Hekate's only domains, you know,” she said and Arjîn watched as the dark clouds loomed closer. Next to her, the drow crouched and watched as well. Looking around, she realised they were the only two people left. “If you think you can continue burning her faithful unpunished, then you don't understand the nature of the Goddess of Crossroads.” There was silence for a while, making Arjîn suspect that one of the Karanoks was busy responding. “We don't fear death, for that too is within the realm of Hekate. But what you should fear right now is Hekate Ourania, goddess of the skies, for she has come to make sure no more of her clerics are burned today!” A dramatic rumbling came from the skies immediately after, making the priestess wonder if some of Hekate's will had seeped into what she guessed was Felicia's spell. It had to have been such, judging from Adeline's words and the speed with which the sky had been covered with rain clouds. The effect was obvious and soon enough did the skies open and pour down rain on the entire area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more characters introduced in this chapter: Arjîn and Chira, both inspired by the Kurdish women fighting ISIS.
> 
> Also introducing another of Karsus' daughters, Adeline.
> 
> Theodosius named after the Christian emperor who persecuted pagans throughout the Roman empire.


	17. Change of plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things don't go as planned, it's time to reevaluate one's goals.

Arjîn and the drow immediately got soaked, although he lifted her up and helped her through the magical doorway, seemingly with little regard to himself. He didn't follow, however, though Felicia soon did, soaking wet and a grim look on her face. They were both greeted with a large gathering of priestesses and priests – the third temple sported the most members by far – as well as the lightly armoured temple knights that served as protectors of the clerics. In fact, the third temple was the only one to have knights in its service. The lack of magic had caused a steady decline in members for the other two temples, but the high priestess of the third had maintained her ability to draw upon Hekate's powers, or so the rumours suggested.

Looking around, the room they were in seemed to be some sort of antechamber.

“A wardstone,” Felicia said to the high priestess, probably not realising who she spoke to. “Where do you keep them?”

The high priestess looked at her with a smile that suggested she was a most peculiar and silly creature. That was part of her reputation – polite condescension – and was one of the reasons why Arjîn preferred the other temple.

“What use would a priestess of Hekate have for a wardstone, dear?” she asked, her smile wide and her eyes shrinking the wider it got. “Wouldn't you like to dry up first? We have prepared hot beverages, warm blankets and-”

Felicia's hand came to rest on the priestess' shoulder, which alone seemed to shatter her false smile. The cleric looked at said hand with a strong sense of disbelief. “Wardstone. Now. Before the Luthcheq forces arrive and destroy this place as well.” Arjîn couldn't see the blonde's face, but she could easily imagine it. The high priestess actually displayed some fear, then, which the girl found to be more than a little satisfactory.

“One of the knights will show you,” she said, sounding considerably more sombre, and indicated one of the men. An Untheric, Arjîn noticed. Felicia stepped up to him and he led her somewhere. The dwarf and Adeline sent suspicious looks after the pair. “Oh dear, look at what happened to your legs.” The high priestess approached and crouched before Arjîn, making a 'tsk' sound as she did. “Such a shame. There's little you can do now.”

Anger flared up inside the girl and she opened her mouth to give the woman a piece of her mind. A loud scraping sound further down the hall echoed through the building and interrupted any such things. Judging from the displeased look on the high priestess' face, it didn't seem like a sound she was terribly fond of.

Arjîn counted it as a small measure of justice.

“You wouldn't know who our sister of the faith is welcoming into our temple, would you?” the high priestess smiled sweetly once the sound had died down, an expression that did nothing to warm the girl up to her. Arjîn remained quiet. Let the woman find out on her own. Her reaction was bound to be priceless.

Sounds of a scuffle came from down the hall, and then the knight came flying back into the antechamber. The other knights managed to break his fall and then got in a half-circle formation, brandishing their weapons in anticipation of this new attacker.

“I thank you kindly for not leaving me out in the rain,” she heard the drow say, “although I'd hoped for a less violent greeting.”

“And I thank you kindly for not killing him,” Felicia replied. “It would be notoriously difficult to explain the difference between you and the Luthcheqs if you had.”

“Anything for my favourite, well-paying princess,” he quipped, earning a most un-lady-like snort in response.

“Payment we have yet to uncover,” she argued. The sound of their voices grew closer.

“A matter of time only,” the elf countered. The knight they'd tossed into the room managed to get back up, and he seemed no worse for the wear. All the clerics, apart from those who had been saved by these strangers, were on edge.

The doors opened and in stepped Felicia and the dark elf. Gasps sounded, some priestesses fainted, the knights and priests glared and the high priestess' face fell. Both woman and drow looked on, immensely entertained.

This was going to be a long day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

To say that Theodosius was angry would be an understatement. He was practically fuming as he paced back and forth in the tent he shared with his brothers, neither of them seeming to share even a fraction of his frustration. Akakios Karanok, the youngest of the three, sat comfortably in his _klismos_ , a less extravagant version of the _thronos_ back in the palace in Luthcheq, his feet propped up on a comfortable footstool. He was helping himself to a plate of grapes, eating them in the extravagant way that was typical of a man of his social standing, though he had made complaints about the lack of a slave to serve him. Cleon Karanok, their older brother, silently studied the battle map laid out on the table and the many small figures that adorned it, his arms crossed over his toga and his hair still damp though the rest of him was dry. Outside the soldiers had retreated to their tents as quickly as they could, though they'd been forced to leave their fallen comrades behind. The injured were being tended to by physicists in tents of their own.

The rain poured away at them mercilessly, reminding Theodosius of his failure to burn the clerics of Hekate and how his soldiers could only slit their throats instead. It was as if the weather itself was mocking him, the constant tapping wearing away at what tiny sliver of patience remained. “I thought the priestesses of Hekate were powerless,” he said accusingly at Cleon. The man looked at him as if daring him to continue that line of thought. Theodosius was tempted, but throwing around accusations wouldn't help the situation.

“They are,” the eldest of them said. “My informant is never wrong, nor lies to me. Their own foolish changes to their church's ancient rituals ensured Hekate's favour retreated from them. What training in wizardry once existed has died out, quite literally, and the practice of sorcery is actively discouraged.”

“Then who was the yellow-haired woman who breathed fire on our men?” Theodosius pressed, stopping in his tracks and fixing Cleon with an angry stare. “Not to mention that witch who used some kind of foul sorcery to humiliate two of my soldiers!”

Cleon's mouth remained closed and, judging from the distressed look in his eyes, it seemed he didn't know, either.

“I'm honestly more concerned about the drow and the dwarf,” Akakios cut in. “They lay complete waste to your hoplites almost single-handedly, as well as a good number of my hippikons.” An unhappy look came to his face.

“Not to mention the dark elf completely eradicated my toxotes,” Cleon supplied, his face turning grim. “I don't look forward to telling father about all the expensive arrows we lost.”

“Assuming we're going home,” Theodosius argued.

“Excuse me,” Cleon shot back, sending him a highly unimpressed look, “but what part of this situation have you not grasped? We lost a large number of soldiers to a group of women, children, a dwarf and an elf and the area is being soaked with rainwater, which has rendered our stakes useless. On top of that, the declaration of Hekate's return by the witch has surely only improved morale among the clerics and sent a demoralising wave over our men.”

“We can kill a few of the soldiers,” Akakios suggested, “that'll remind the rest about their loyalties.”

“I dread to think of how you motivate your men to do anything,” Cleon remarked. In return, Akakios shot him a vicious grin.

“You're welcome to come watch any time,” he suggested, but the look on Cleon's face suggested a strong disinterest. “But in all honesty, Theodosius, I'm actually inclined to agree with what Cleon is implying. There's no way we can defeat these witches with those two women, the drow and dwarf in the way. Especially not now that they've motivated so many priestesses to fight back.”

“News of your earlier deceit will reach the last temple as well,” the eldest brother supplied. “They won't be as eager to surrender knowing that the children will be killed anyway.”

Akakios picked his nose. “Told you we should have kept our word.”

Theodosius' fist connected hard with the map table, causing it to tremble. Several pieces toppled over and some even fell off the table. “We _never_ keep our word with witches! Even if the children are completely mundane, they've been tainted by the foul teachings of witchcraft! If we let them live, they will always remain a threat!”

“The clerics themselves are quite mundane, too,” Cleon argued back, “and it will be difficult to explain to father why we've wasted resources attacking temples of non-magical followers of a dead goddess when there's _real_ mages in Chessenta to hunt instead.”

“I'm not so sure she's dead, though,” Akakios remarked thoughtfully. “Surely the rain could have been summoned by the witch's own magic, but I doubt she'd speak so confidently if there wasn't some truth to her words.”

“All the more reason to annihilate them,” Theodosius argued, his face and entire being dark with hate.

Cleon looked thoroughly uncomfortable upon witnessing such a look on his brother's face, but Akakios merely shrugged. “Again, happily, but _how_?”

Theodosius looked to Cleon. “I'm sure our beloved brother will find a way.” His gaze returned to Akakios. “In the meantime, go and remind the soldiers of their loyalty.”

A grin broke out on their youngest brother's face that reminded them more of childhood pranks and adventure than the face of someone about to brutally murder some of his own men. While Theodosius didn't show it, he was more than a little relieved when Akakios stepped out of the tent.

Cleon sent their brother's retreating back a disapproving glare before turning to regard Theodosius with the same look. “I'm surprised you would encourage his kind of behaviour.”

The middle brother merely shrugged. “He likes to terrify them while you like to inspire them. I've found that both methods work, depending on the context.”

“I've found my method to work regardless of context,” Cleon argued.

“As I'm sure Akakios would say about his,” Theodosius countered, not bothering to hide his smirk. In response, his brother frowned. “We have more important matters to attend to. This informant of yours, does he limit himself to secrets only or is he willing to help us more directly?”

“ _She_ might need some persuading,” Cleon replied, having lost his frown, “especially after you went back on the promise to not hurt the children.”

“What does she want, then?” The warrior-prince straightened, thinking of the many things girls and women could want in life – pretty clothes, expensive jewellery, precious gems and a fine husband were some of the things he listed.

“Therein lies the problem,” his brother cut in. “She wants to learn magic.”

A deep-seated hiss sounded from Theodosius before he could stop himself, but then he thought better of it and cleared his throat. “I take it that's why she was willing to sell her fellows out? Because there was no magic to learn?”

“That and the fact that she believed we'd spare the lives of the children,” the eldest brother supplied. “You also didn't leave her with the impression that she would be spared, so it's likely she thinks we turned on her.”

“Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you,” Theodosius quipped.

“All thanks to you,” came the acidic reply.

The youngest of the pair sent the eldest a bored look. “You're welcome to pass along my apologies, if you think it'll make a difference.”

“Hardly.”

“Then we're in agreement on that, at least.” Theodosius indicated the tent door. “We neither can nor will help her learn magic, but we can offer her a safe path home.”

“Provided she believes we can win,” Cleon countered. “After witnessing what happened today, how can we convince her that we still have the upper hand?”

“You still have grandmother's gift, don't you?”

An uncomfortable look came to Cleon's face. It was no secret that he hated the “gift” in question, let alone using it. Rumours had it that it had been held by magical creatures before making its way into the Karonak family. While it was a powerful weapon against mages, the eldest of the three brothers would never let the matter of the item's previous possessors drop. “I do.”

“Convince your informant that you wish to negotiate with the drow,” Theodosius suggested. “When he shows up, bring out the 'gift' so he'll be powerless and then kill him. That should persuade her of our upper hand easily enough.”

“How do I convince the drow to come speak to us?” the eldest argued. “We hunt elves as well, as I'm sure the priestesses have told him by now.”

“Drow bear no love for their surface kin,” Theodosius said dismissively. “They're immoral creatures with no compulsion about betraying other drow if they believe there's profit in it.”

“He could be a follower of Eilistraee,” Cleon suggested, “and I've yet to hear tales of drow betraying other drow to humans.”

“Riding a nightmare?” the younger's voice was heavy with scepticism. “Unlikely. And he would be betraying humans, not his fellow dark elves.” He paused and then added. “Not that it will matter, because he'll be dead anyway.” He nodded at the chest behind his own _klismos_ , which was almost as large as the chair in question. “You may bring that with you to present to him. The content will surely entice him.”

“What will you do in the meantime?” Cleon asked, looking sceptical but not arguing further against the plan.

“I will coordinate with Akakios and move our forces in for a final push against the last temple,” Theodosius explained. “The high priestess may have retained her spells, but she's a cowardly fool and won't oppose us. Once we receive a sign from you that the drow is dead, we will move in for the slaughter.”

“The dwarf is quite a menace, too,” Cleon remarked.

“Dwarves are also quite loyal,” the youngest argued. “I don't know how a dark elf persuaded one of the earth wizards to fight alongside him, but should you kill the drow, I'm sure the dwarf will come out of hiding to avenge him.”

“At which point I'll be dead,” the eldest shot back sourly. He'd seen the dwarf's fighting skills only from afar, but they were formidable.

“He will be far less of a threat without magic to back him,” Theodosius said dismissively. “I'd spare some hoplites to help you, but their presence would be counter-productive.” There was a short pause between them. “Surely you haven't forgotten how to fight for your life? You're the finest warrior in our family for a reason.”

“I will never forget the dungeon of the necromancer,” Cleon shot back with an angry hiss, his face dark with hate. “It's exactly because of this that I never enter a fight without knowing my opponents.”

“You know they'll be considerably weaker with the 'gift' presented to them,” Theodosius said and shrugged.

“That elf's body is tightly packed muscle,” the eldest shot back, “and the dwarf will no doubt be formidable even without enchantment to back him.”

“Fight like you're in the dungeon, then,” Theodosius shot back, having grown tired with his brother's complaints. “Bring extra weapons if need be. I've got some mundane tricks you can use as well.”

“I expect you to make your move when I send the signal.” Cleon took one look at the chest. “I'll need a horse to carry that.”

Theodosius shook his head. “A horse won't help you in that part of the mountains.”

Cleon glared, apparently having caught on to what his younger brother meant. On his part, Theodosius could only grin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After reassuring the followers of Hekate that Jarlaxle and Athrogate were there to help them against the forces of Luthcheq, with vocal support from the surviving priestesses, did the task of aiding the new arrivals begin. The high priestess – Syntyche was her name – didn't seem overly bothered by the news of what had happened at the other two temples, even as knights and her fellow clerics milled about to prepare food and beds.

“We are so close to Luthcheq,” she remarked. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

Felicia and Adeline regarded her as if she'd spontaneously grown a second head. “Don't hold back your tears for the fallen on our behalf,” Adeline remarked dryly.

“We shall hold a proper ritual for the dead,” Syntyche continued, as if she hadn't heard the Netherese. “It will be a fitting tribute to their sacrifice.” The more she spoke, the more her voice sounded strange and detached. Felicia was reminded of a particular acolyte of Hekate back in the time of Netheril. She would speak of the five virtues, but her voice had been distant and lacked the weight of understanding them.

That such a person was in charge of the three temples spoke volumes as to why the priestesses had thought Felicia's _remove paralysis_ spell to be an outright miracle. Was Hekate even still around? She could sense the power in the ancient wards as well as the corresponding wardstones, and there had been an undeniable _presence_ in the other two temples, but here, where the goddess' favour should be undeniable judging from the amount of faithful, did she feel a _void_. It seemed a familiar sensation, though she struggled to place it.

“What magic do your clerics know?” Felicia decided to ask. Even if they were just minor, arcane spells, it was better than nothing. “We need to plan a strategy for how to mount the best defence, and then-”

“Magic?” Syntyche asked, surprise written all over her face. Then she shook her head. “Oh no, we don't do that here.”

The daughters of Karsus stared at her silently for two long seconds. “Why not?” they chorused.

“It is our belief that magic steals the energy from all the participants involved,” the high priestess went on. “As such, we've concluded that only the divine favour of Hekate is acceptable, as a never-ending font of divinity as it is.”

Felicia felt confusion wash over her. “What never-ending font of divinity? The clerics I met haven't even witnessed a low-level _remove paralysis_ spell before. They thought it on par with _miracle_.”

“Casting spells is indeed taxing,” Adeline added, “but that's rarely the case when it's performed in cooperation with others.”

“Furthermore,” Felicia supplied, “Hekate is a goddess of magic. To turn to the arcane for your defence, let alone study it beforehand, is as natural to her clerics as getting out of bed in the morning.”

Syntyche merely continued to shake her head. “We abolished the study of magic. It took away too much of the energy.”

Felicia grew suspicious. “What energy would that be?”

“Very important tasks that needed doing,” the high priestess replied enigmatically and smiled in the same way she had when the princess had asked her about wardstones. She raised her hands in a manner that suggested she was going to shrug, but her shoulders remained low. “It's all energy, in the end. We must make sure to steer it in the right direction.”

“Surely you still pray for spells,” Adeline argued.

Again a shake of the head. “We are spiritual, not religious.”

Feeling a headache come on, the witch-princess decided to change the subject. “Where are the senior torchbearers?”

Syntyche seemed to not understand the question.

Aglaia stepped in. “The most devoted clerics of Hekate. Felicia has agreed to help us in return for their aid.”

“I fear we haven't had a torchbearer in this temple since Cansu,” the high priestess informed them, “and she passed away last tenday.” Sadness that in no way looked burdensome came to Syntyche's face.

An awkward silence settled. “Well,” Jarlaxle said and stepped up next to the blonde, “we've no reason to stay, then, do we?”


	18. Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not at all well within the church of Hekate. What plagues the faithful of the goddess of crossroads other than violent fanatics?

The ritual had worked. Felicia felt the power of Hekate surge through her immediately after she'd spoken her pledge. A holler came from the bandit that had helped her prepare, however, which caught her by surprise.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Your ritual set the whole hut on fire,” he shouted. Her face fell. That had not been her intent.

“How-” she began, but he cut her short.

“Ask the firebird that your flames summoned!” Then she heard his retreating footsteps and the sound of wood crackling. The smell of smoke filled the air. She had to get out of there, and quickly. With her hands free she managed to get up on all fours and start crawling in the direction that she'd heard the simpleton go. Getting up on her feet was no option – if anything, that just increased the rate at which she'd suffocate.

She managed to get to the door, something she realised when her head bumped into it. It swung open and returned to smack her in the face, informing her what type of door it was, too. Felicia pushed it open and heard loud and angry arguing to her right.

“-damn bitch didn't tell me she'd burn down the place!” It was a woman's voice, so the princess guessed it was the Sharran priestess. Felicia followed the sound, but found herself grasping at a window rather than another door. The smoke inside was growing thicker and the sound of burning wood drew closer. Already the temperature in the room had increased significantly. Felica felt sweat cover her entire body.

“That doesn't help us now, does it?” Coarse voice argued back at the cleric. “Are you sure she was ever truly willing to help us?”

“There will always be opportunists like her,” the Sharran argued. “She even provided me with the acid. The princess is nothing more than a stepping stone.”

A part of Felicia really wanted to hear more of the conversation, but her survival instinct was stronger. She managed to find another door just a few steps away from the window and she swung it open to be greeted by fresh air. Wonderful fresh air.

The most peculiar sound came, an unearthly call that kicked her magical senses into high gear. It sounded like a bird and that thought reminded her of the bandit's words earlier. Firebird? The only bird made of fire that she knew of was the phoenix. It was a highly rare servant of the goddess and appeared only during the most dire times. The tales all told that its appearance was a harbinger of doom for anyone who would seek to do harm to the torchbearer, whether from outside the temple – or within.

Realisation didn't take long to sink in, not after spending years in the courts of Eileanar. Someone in the church had betrayed her. Felicia wasn't even surprised.

She managed to crawl over the doorstep just as an explosion sounded above her. Fiery debris hit her and she cried out in fear as the firebird's call sounded in her ear and everything around her burst into flames.

The heat was all over her body and she felt her clothes disintegrate and her jewellery melt. She heard the mocking laughter of the Sharran priestess as she loudly proclaimed her death by fire. How ironic, she said.

Yet Felicia didn't burn. In fact, soon the heat disappeared from her body altogether and she was left with a cool, soothing sensation. Her empty eye sockets stung something fierce and her scalp tingled. She reached up with her hand, the sensation that met her fingertips that of very short hairs, almost to the point of baldness.

“ _Lie still_ ,” a voice bid her somewhere in her mind and if it hadn't been for the earlier presence of the phoenix, she would have assumed she was going mad. The stinging sensation in her eye sockets abated in favour of the same cooling sensation that the rest of her body enjoyed. “ _Sing my song_.”

Knowing better than to disobey a servant of her goddess, Felicia began the familiar phoenix chant – the only chant that she knew of that was about a phoenix, anyway.

“ _I am the firebird's daugher, through the flames am I reborn._

_Fire is life and a heartbeat, its truth I fully embrace._

_Come to me now, oh servant of Hekate._

_I rejoice in your presence and splendour._

_Burn away the lies, leave me bare and strong._

_Give me honesty and the courage to speak it._

_I am the firebird's daughter, through the flames am I reborn!_ ”

“ _Again_ ,” the voice bid. “ _Sing as many times as you can_.”

Felicia obeyed, singing as many times as her voice would allow. It was far from perfect, lying on the ground as she did, so she slowly worked her way up to her feet until she could stand and sing at the top of her lungs. She sang it a full octave higher than most of the torchbearers, but she put her heart and soul into it. As the song went on, the world around her went from a dark void to a blur of black and white. That blur then slowly became more clear and crisp, and to her added surprise was she able to distinguish trees, stones and grass as if it was daytime. Well, without light and colours. The cold, soothing sensation left her body, except on her lower brow where it lingered a moment longer.

She saw the Sharran, her eyes wide and her jaw looking as if she was catching flies with it. The one she knew as Coarse Voice stood next to her and next to him stood a large man that could only be the Simpleton.

“Sorry about the hut,” she said. “I didn't expect a phoenix to appear, to be honest.”

“Who the hell let her do that?” sounded an angry version of Smooth Voice. Felicia turned around to see, unsurprisingly, a Netherese wizard, covered in soot but otherwise no worse for the wear. “Who the hell let her perform a ritual?”

“Who was it that claimed she was all out of spells?” countered the Coarse Voice angrily. “You assured us she wouldn't be able to pull off something like that!”

“Clerics never fully lose their connections to their deities, fools!” It was the priestess' turn to argue. “We can turn basically any tool into a ritual item!”

A shrill and unnatural bird's call sounded in the air and not one phoenix, but two, descended upon both cleric and wizard. They were engulfed in fire, both screaming in pain until no more sound came, their bodies dropping to the ground as the flames died out. Felicia noticed the two birds were quite small, but the one sitting on top of the corpse of the priestess spoke as if it had the booming voice of an ogre. “I now know the identity of your betrayer, torchbearer! I shall report to the others at once!” Then it flew high into the air and straight in the direction of what Felicia guessed was the temple.

“As for me,” said the other firebird, “I was sent here by your father and shall report back to him with what I've found!”

That surprised Felicia. “My father sent you?”

“He worked together with the torchbearers,” was all the phoenix said before it, too, flew away.

Felicia watched it disappear into the darkness, still shocked and puzzled, before turning to face the two men. “You wouldn't happen to have a pair of boots to spare?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You can't be serious!” Aglaia snapped after a long silence from Felicia. The princess considered Jarlaxle's words and weighed them up against her concerns for her fellow faithful. Without her, the drow and the dwarf, with the added 'leadership' of someone so removed from reality, these people would very likely die and the efforts they'd put into saving them would be for nothing. Then again, without her sisters and the last clues to whatever Karsus left behind for her, Felicia couldn't pay Jarlaxle and Athrogate to help these people, not to mention her own future looked dim.

Besides, what was there here for a senior torchbearer to save when Hekate herself had abandoned the place? She also didn't know what Adeline wanted to do about the whole issue.

“Now, now, little one, there's no need for raised voices,” Syntyche chided, a deep frown set in her face. “If these people don't wish to stay, then they're welcome to leave.”

“Do you have any written texts by the torchbearers?” Felicia pressed, still not giving up on being reunited with her sisters, at least. “Any diaries or other personal writings?”

“Anything that pertains to Netheril?” Adeline supplied. “More specifically the things that Felicia and I came out of?”

“The strange machine?” the voice of a priestess asked. Felicia turned around to see one of the priestesses they'd saved, the one who had become temporarily paralysed. “Adeline's was with us, but the remaining ones are here. One of the torchbearers took me there one day, though I never learned how to awaken the people inside.”

“Why would she take _you_ there?” Aglaia asked the girl, and she couldn't quite keep the envy out of her voice. Felicia gave the girl a sidelong glance, an unidentified _something_ nagging at the back of her mind as she watched the exchange take place between the two girls.

“I don't know why _he_ brought me there,” the young priestess said with a shrug, although she sent Aglaia a surprised look. “Maybe because they were all old and dying and wanted to pass along some secrets?”

“Maybe he foresaw Felicia's coming,” Adeline added. “My sister is nothing if not... noticeable.”

Felicia felt Jarlaxle's wide grin burn into her back.

“In that case, they could have told me,” Aglaia countered and placed a hand to her chest. “I've worked the hardest for all our sakes and can shoulder many responsibilities at once.”

“That alone doesn't make you trustworthy,” Felicia observed, echoing words spoken from many centuries ago to a young priestess boasting about her humble and altruistic nature to the senior torchbearers in a continued effort to be made one of them. When Aglaia turned on her with the same angry glare did the unidentified nagging turn into full suspicion. “A torchbearer's burden goes beyond basic temple chores and digging up information for personal use.”

Aglaia's growing anger in response to her last words became all the confirmation she needed. “Like _what_?” The girl's voice, so soft and gentle before, was now nothing more than an angry snarl. A stark contrast to the person she had been before.

“The greatest level of trust from the goddess,” the princess explained, still calm even though she was most unhappy with her discovery. Aglaia had shown such promise, after all. “More than any regular cleric, which is why the obstacles to become one are so horrendous and always difficult to overcome.”

Aglaia eyed the princess from top to toe and spoke the next words with no small amount of spite and venom. “You don't look any worse for the wear.”

“I don't _look_ it, no,” Felicia replied enigmatically. To the girl's credit, she caught on to the underlying meaning and didn't press the matter. The princess then turned back to the priestess. “I made a deal with Aglaia that I would help you against your enemies in exchange for your help in recovering my sisters and inheritance.”

“We have no enemies here,” Syntyche cut in with a wide smile. “The only enemy anywhere is negative energy.”

Felicia ignored her. “To those of you who don't know, my name is Felicia Helenus.” She pointed at her sister. “This is Adeline Marchetti, my sister. We're both daughters of the late archwizard Karsus. Does it ring a bell?”

Eyes grew wide and mutters rang around the room. The priestess who had spoken earlier rose to her feet. “My name is Chira. I've read books about you, Felicia Helenus.”

Adeline poked her in the ribs and shot her a teasing smile. “My sister the famous.” Felicia shot her a glare, which only served to widen the ranger's smile.

“If you're the one you claim to be, then you're a senior torchbearer,” Chira went on, seemingly content to ignore the staring contest between the two sisters.

“That's correct,” Felicia replied without hesitation.

“You're also a powerful sorceress, but that we witnessed already,” the young priestess went on. Nods and murmurs of agreement sounded throughout the crowd.

“Anything else keeping you from letting them reunite with their sisters?” Jarlaxle cut in, only the slightest hint of impatience echoing in his voice. Considering how well in control he was of his emotions, at least of what Felicia had seen of him so far, that spoke volumes.

“Do you have any enchanted keys here, as well?” Felicia added, for as much as she longed to be with her _functional_ family again, her memories were also of great importance. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she guessed those keys to be the work of Hekate. Not only were keys among her symbols, but it was doubtful that even Karsus had foreseen Felicia's awakening and subsequent amnesia and made plans to remedy it. Lilith certainly didn't care so long as she could use the princess for her nefarious plots, and it wouldn't surprise Felicia if the demon queen had something to do with her memory loss. Hekate, on the other hand, judging from her small number of followers, definitely had some self-interest invested in her only remaining torchbearer regaining her memories.

It also explained that strange dream she'd had before she was woken up from her magical slumber.

“Oh, I have one of those, sweetie,” Adeline cut in and pulled a key from a chain hanging around her neck. It was the most unassuming iron key that Felicia had ever seen, but it tickled her fey senses, a tell-tale sign that it was magical. “I think the other girls have the rest.”

Felicia considered what this meant in practice. “You didn't wake up with amnesia?”

“No, I remember everything that happened as if it was yesterday,” the ranger replied as she handed her the key. “Then again, we were in the care of Hekate's faithful, none of whom were able to locate you.”

That surprised the sorceress. “The church made these machines?” She had assumed her father or Lilith to be behind their creation.

“As per the goddess' wishes,” Chira cut in, having stepped closer. “We were supposed to keep watch over you and wake you when Hekate gave us the sign, but yours was stolen and we were never able to retrieve it.”

“Why keep us alive for so long?” Felicia asked. “Why not let us die like every other mortal?”

Chira shrugged. “You will have to ask Hekate. Perhaps there is a purpose in store for you in this day and age?”

“In that case we might as well have been reincarnated,” Adeline argued, but Felicia could easily conclude why that wasn't desirable. While Karsus had succeeded with making a spellfire wielder out of only one of his daughters, he had magically experimented on the remaining seven until they had powers to use against the phaerimm.

It seemed Hekate was happy to put those powers to use for her own goals.

“I can't claim to speak on the goddess' behalf on this issue,” Chira said with a shrug, “but if you wish, I can take you to where your remaining sisters are kept. They have yet to be woken up.”

“How does the process of awakening work, exactly?” Jarlaxle asked, cutting into the conversation and effectively reminding everyone that he was still there.

Chira looked uncomfortable addressing him directly, but replied nevertheless. “A faithful of Hekate must do the awakening, or it won't work.”

Felicia grew confused. There had been no clerics of the goddess when she awoke.

“Lead the way, then,” Adeline urged. “We don't have all day and neither do the Karanoks.”

Deciding to press the issue of her own awakening later, Felicia turned to face the drow. “Do you wish to leave still?”

His white eyebrows shot up to the middle of his brow, as if the very idea was completely foreign to him. “And miss out on meeting more of Karsus' charming offspring? Perish the thought.” Then he shot her a wide grin.

She wasn't sure what to make of him, but Felicia found that it only made him more interesting. Her eyes went to Athrogate next who, for some mysterious reason, couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Adeline. The ranger noticed as well and she responded to his stare with a wild, wide-eyed look of her own. It did nothing to discourage him.

“Would you like to come as well, Athrogate?” Felicia asked, though the dwarf seemed to only barely notice her.

“Aye,” he said while still staring at Adeline, and that was all he said. The princess briefly wondered if her sister had cast some form of _charm_ spell on the warrior. Not that she could recall Adeline knowing such spells.

“Follow me, then,” Chira said and led the way out of the antechamber.

“I really don't think this is a good idea,” Syntyche cut in as the group followed.

“We didn't ask for your opinion,” Adeline shot back sharply before stepping out of the room. Syntyche shouted something about being high priestess, but Felicia was already well on her way through the tunnel that led below to hear much of it. Not that she cared.

Felicia had expected a complicated maze in which it would be very easy to get lost, but it was only down one flight of stairs and into what seemed like an ordinary storage room. When she remarked upon it, Chira merely smiled.

“The mountains themselves are a maze and the temples are nigh on impossible to find without magic or the favour of Hekate to guide you,” she explained. “Unless you know the routes well, of course.”

“I can second this,” the dark elf supplied. “It was magic that helped me find the front door more than any elven senses.”

“Are the Karanoks well acquainted with these mountain passes?” Felicia added.

“No, they all live in Luthcheq and won't come near these mountains because of the trolls, bandits and dragons,” Chira replied as she led the way through the darkness with a flaming torch in hand.

“How did they know how to find the temples, then?” Adeline and Felicia chorused.

Chira stopped dead in her tracks. When she turned around she wore a look of confusion that perfectly matched the tone of the two princesses.

“Rots from inside,” Athrogate added, “someone's playin' guide.”

“No wonder Hekate's favour has left this place,” Adeline snapped, her face full of fury. “Not only do you have an incompetent fool for a 'high priestess', but you harbour traitors as well!”

“If so, it's of no knowledge of mine who the traitor might be,” Chira snapped right back and faced the furious ranger head on. She didn't challenge her on the topic of Syntyche, however. Athrogate let out an admiring 'oooooh' all the same.

Jarlaxle raised his hands to either side. “Such is the nature of betrayal, though. It never comes from your enemies.”

“I imagine many here would feel they had reason to betray the others,” Felicia added. “No magic allowed except for that of the 'high priestess', terms we never used back when the church was founded, no visible signs of the goddess' favour, no prayers for spells permitted, all other senior torchbearers dead and I suspect there's blatant power abuse put in place by Synfickle as well?”

“Syntyche,” Chira corrected her.

“I know,” Felicia shot back. Athrogate snorted.

“I can't speak of such sensitive matters around outsiders-” Chira began.

“To the Nine Hells with that!” It was Felicia's turn to snap, and it seemed to come as such a surprise to everyone that even Jarlaxle grew quiet. “We're an esoteric sect, not an isolated one! It's true we don't have many friends, but what does the biggest damage to churches throughout Faerûn is the cover-up of violations, not being honest about them!”

“Perhaps such things are easier for you to speak of,” Chira argued, “but for us, it's better to stay quiet.”

“In that case, if Hekate's favour does return to this place it will be nothing short of a miracle,” the princess shot back dryly.

Chira's eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“The goddess of crossroads doesn't suffer cowards and fools,” Felicia said pointedly and stepped past the flabbergasted priestess. “This deal is rotten. I've no desire to fight for those who won't even take the steps necessary to save themselves.” Then she walked into darkness.

“How, without a torch-” Chira began.

Felicia's voice was raised significantly in volume and anger when she replied. “A torchbearer has no need for light in darkness! You should know that much!”

Heartfelt laughter sounded from Adeline and Athrogate both as they followed. Even the elf's light steps sounded. Chira, despite the earlier argument, rushed to catch up and led them to the area that held the machines. Dust clung to them and cobwebs travelled from one to the next in a seemingly never-ending journey, but they remained intact all the same. Chira lit the torches hanging on the wall, providing more light, before setting to work burning away the spider spinning. One by one, the two daughters of Karsus witnessed a sister, niece or nephew come into view, sleeping away inside their life-giving coffins.

“Right,” Adeline said with a devilish grin as the last bit of cobwebs burned away. “Time for the sleeping beauties to wake up.”


	19. Dark deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six naked women awake, along with their children. The drow gets restless as he ponders the situation. Felicia gives the faithful of Hekate her offer. Also, didn't someone somewhere mention something about dragons?

Cleon Karanok stared at the indifferent mule that he'd ridden up to his meeting place with Aglaia. Leave it to Theodosius to humiliate him so. The warrior-prince would get back at him for sure.

It had stopped raining, but the rock was still slippery and the grass had a distinctly fresh smell to it. The sun moved slowly across the sky, well past its zenith. It had to be near dinner time by now, something his stomach was happy to remind him of. He dug a hand into a saddle bag and picked out some stale brown bread and a yet unopened bottle of Chessentan wine that he'd smuggled out of the palace kitchen. Few were the culinary joys of military expeditions, and while he'd meant to save it for his victory toast with his most trusted soldiers, he figured he'd need a taste of it before taking on the skill of a drow warrior. Even so, he waited with the drink, for he had yet to notify the girl of his presence. He did bite down on the piece of pastry, however, and made sure to finish eating before he made contact.

The code was simple enough, a string of taps against the rock that was actually a magically concealed door, and only Aglaia would recognise the pattern. He used a pickaxe for the tapping and when he was done he sat down and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. Out from behind the rock came the girl, although she froze in her steps when she saw him. Her eyes took on a glare and her entire form trembled, though whether it was from fear or anger he had yet to determine. Yes, he'd betrayed her trust and lied to her. He had participated in the butchering and burning of people close to her. From her perspective she had every reason to hate him.

Yet she didn't leave.

“I've come to make a deal with the drow,” he said immediately and while her glare didn't fully abate, there was a slight curiosity in her eyes. “We're willing to pay him and his dwarven companion to leave this place.”

“Why should I tell him anything?” Aglaia asked. “Why should I help you at all? You can die in a manner similar to the clerics for all I care.”

He felt the corners of his lips take a sharp downturn, but he stayed on course all the same. “It's true I lied to you about magic training. I'm a Karanok and will never aid anyone in the study of the arcane.”

“Then give me one reason not to alert the knights to your presence,” she snarled threateningly, and he was briefly reminded of a cornered bear cub. One corner of his lips turned slightly upward.

“Because both our forces have been decimated and the fate of our respective groups rests on the whims of a dark elf,” he countered. “I'm quite certain you're not fond of that. The sooner he's gone from this place, the less unpredictable this situation becomes.”

“Then what?” she pressed, and while she hadn't moved closer or further away, there seemed to be a slight change in her demeanour. “You resume the attack and kill us all? How is that better for us?”

“My _brothers_ resume the attack and kill everyone inside,” he corrected her. “You have the option of coming with me to your home in Cimbar, in exchange for your aid.”

“How can I trust that?” she snapped. “You assisted in the murder of children!”

“Theodosius made that order, not me,” he countered. “The soldiers that ran around the complex like headless chickens, failing to find you? I misdirected them exactly for the purpose of protecting you.”

“I don't believe you,” she argued, but her voice shook, suggesting that she hadn't completely written off what he said, either.

“I don't kill children,” Cleon continued. “I'm a father, as is my youngest brother, Akakios. We both have little ones waiting for us at home.”

She didn't look convinced. “Yet you did nothing to stop your brother.”

He fixed her with his most sincere look. “I did what I could, as did you. As I recall, you had no power to stop him, either.” It was true that he'd done what he could to help Aglaia, though that was mostly so he'd have an informant around to help him with the last temple, not because he particularly cared about her well-being. Not that she needed to know this, of course.

“I doubt you need to make a deal with the dark elf,” she said after a moment's silence. “Once he found out there was no treasure in this place, he lost all interest in staying.”

Now that would have been interesting had it been true, but Cleon had been around enough liars to know she didn't believe her own words. “Is he still inside?” He gave a quick nod in the direction of the temple.

She nodded, albeit hesitantly.

“So he lost interest in helping you, yet he remains,” the prince remarked. He noticed Aglaia shift from one foot to the next. “Why is that?” She didn't answer. “Does it have anything to do with the witch?”

“Torchbearer,” she corrected him with an angry snarl, but then her hand flew to her mouth as she realised what she'd done.

Cleon quickly rose to his feet, a sense of fear and anger coming over him. “I thought you said all the torchbearers were dead!”

“She came from somewhere else,” Aglaia was quick to reply, but her voice trembled and she had taken a step back.

“Did she persuade the drow into staying?” he pressed. If it was true that a torchbearer remained, then they might have to empty Luthcheq entirely if they wanted to rid this mountain of the witches.

“He does as he wants,” the girl explained.

“She's _that_ wealthy, then?” he remarked more than asked.

“She's a princess.”

He rocked back on his feet. While magic was more commonplace among nobles and royalty simply by virtue of their resources, he hadn't taken into account that he'd have to compete on a financial level. “Of what country?”

“Empire,” Aglaia corrected him. “She's Netherese.”

A heavy silence followed as Cleon stood, slack-jawed, and stared at the girl. She showed no signs of lying or joking. If anything, she wore a look that was perfectly sincere. “You _think_ she's Netherese?” As much as they hated magic, the Karanok family was far from uneducated, and in few places across the length and width of Faerûn were names like “Netheril” or “Karsus” unknown to humanity.

“She _is_ Netherese,” Aglaia shot back, still sounding and looking dead serious.

“A descendant?” he pressed. That, at least, would make some sense, though he'd yet to hear of a Netherese that was blonde.

She shook her head. “A survivor.”

Another second of silence followed and then he burst out laughing. It started as a hissing sound, but soon enough it turned into full, belly-deep roaring. He alternated between leaning back and bending forward, tears bursting forth at some point and a struggle for breath eventually appearing. Aglaia looked suitably offended at his mockery, which only fuelled his laughter even more. He sat back down on the boulder from before, shaking his head and trembling even as the worst of his merriment finally died down. “No-one could have survived that long, you foolish girl. What kind of a Chessentan are you to believe so readily such an obvious lie?”

“It's not a lie,” she countered angrily. “The Netherese possessed powerful magic and made possible things that made even elves jealous! She could have easily survived all these centuries with the right methods.”

All mirth disappeared from Cleon. “You know what those methods are, don't you?”

She demonstratively and stubbornly kept her mouth shut.

“Let's say, for the sake of argument, that she's truly a survivor of ancient Netheril, a torchbearer and a princess,” he continued. “She most certainly helped you before and can recruit a dangerous and powerful ally for you. How come she hasn't led an attack against our camp?” He gave the girl a questioning look. “Netheril was far to the north, in what is now a desert. Did she really survive for nearly two thousand years and come all this way just to save you?”

Doubt and hesitation were written all across Aglaia's face. It seemed he'd hit his mark.

“Tell me, how impressed was she with your 'high priestess'?” he went on, and discomfort joined the other two emotions dominating the young one's visage. “Or how about the lack of divine spells, or arcane for that matter? Surely she's seen the state of the church by now, with only three temples left and no-one to channel their goddess' power except Syntyche, or so that one claims. You yourself told me of the lack of opportunities among the faithful and how _accustomed_ a lot of the clerics and knights have become to these mundane ways. Do they even have the will to fight?”

Despair was the only emotion left at this point. Pure, naked anguish. Tears even started to form in the corners of her eyes. “S-she helped us before-” she began, her voice trailing off.

“Because you had something to offer her, no doubt,” he countered. “These northerners care only for themselves and what they can get from others. I've heard tales of their raids, especially of elves, at sea and even of the people in the Western Heartlands. They're selfish, just like the rest of us. Once this princess has what she wants from you, she'll be long gone, and the drow and dwarf will leave with her.”

Aglaia broke down crying.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a simple enough process, it seemed, for Felicia and Adeline to wake up their relatives. A few words muttered in prayer, their names spoken out loud and the touch of their hands upon the shells that separated the women and children from the waking world and it all came undone. The machines opened, one after another, although the people themselves came out at irregular intervals. Jarlaxle was pleased to notice that the remaining daughters of Karsus were all naked.

A short woman with yellow hair a bit brighter than Felicia's stepped out first. Her breasts were obscenely large even by human standards and she seemed to struggle with opening her eyes. When they did, however, they took in the drow first and she approached him on steady, fearless feet, never taking her blue eyes off of him for even a second. She stopped only a few feet shy of him before she spoke. “You're black, that means you're made of coffee, right?”

That had to be the second time Karsus' offspring had made a remark about his skin colour that left him temporarily speechless. He had heard rumours of this “coffee” that apparently originated in the Chultan peninsula, but he had yet to make an acquaintance with the brew. Apparently the colour of it was quite dark, and the brew itself addictive. Judging from her question, he guessed she'd gone one-thousand-seven-hundred years without and would probably start to suffer from withdrawal symptoms. He'd seen what had happened to some of his fellow drow after they became addicted to certain substances and while he could handle most human females in their anger, he didn't wish to take his chances with a daughter of Karsus.

“I fear I make a poor drink,” he quipped and flashed her his friendliest smile. “Perhaps ask Felicia if she has any?”

“We brew coffee upstairs,” Chira stepped in, but the recently awoken woman had already spun around in pursuit of a new agenda.

“Felicia!” she hollered and stepped right into the darkness without hesitation. Jarlaxle blinked. Did all the daughters of Karsus possess darkvision? He'd seen Adeline's eyes glow red in there as well.

Three more women followed the first – a tall woman with pale yellow hair and two slightly shorter women with different tones of brown hair. He heard their names were Chrysanta, Olivia and Lucinda. All of them had pale skin colour, unsurprisingly, and so the drow was doubly surprised when a short, dark-haired woman with considerably darker skin than her sisters stepped out of one of the machines. Chrysanta, the tall blonde, almost immediately smothered her in a hug and he heard the dark woman's name was Junia. So she was yet another of Karsus' daughters. Well, she had to be to have been kept inside one of those machines. Still, her facial structure, especially her slanted eyes, looked very exotic, and while she did share some of the traits of her sisters she was unmistakably unique for a Netherese, even more so than the three blondes.

Chrysanta turned out to be quite chatty and even sing-songed to the coffee-addicted blonde in ways that seemed to annoy the latter to no end. Adeline, Jarlaxle noticed, was busy arguing with the eighth sister.

“You don't get five more minutes, Regina,” the dark-haired beauty that had seemingly captivated his dwarven friend, argued. “You've had one-thousand-seven-hundred years to sleep already.”

“Then you can wait five more minutes,” the one named Regina grumbled back.

Adeline stepped back and placed both fists on her hip. “Regina Theobaldus, I will pour hot coffee down your throat if you don't get out of bed this instant!”

The drowsy woman became a mess of flailing arms and legs that eventually managed to stumble out of the machine. She immediately hissed upon seeing Jarlaxle and seemed much more bothered by her naked state than her sisters as she immediately hid behind Adeline.

“Get me a blanket, at least,” she cried. “It's cold in here!”

“You're always cold,” Felicia remarked dryly as she passed by with the only daughter of Karsus whose name the mercenary didn't know following behind.

“Get me coffee,” she growled angrily, her face contorted in rage that would be hilarious – and quite adorable, even – if the drow didn't know how dangerous people with withdrawal could be.

“Chira,” Felicia looked to the priestess. “Would you be so kind as to fetch some clothes and coffee for my sisters?”

An angry growl sounded from Regina this time.

“Except Regina,” Felicia added. “She prefers tea.”

Chira shot every naked woman in the room a slightly worried look. “I'll see what I can do.” Then she slipped out of there, taking the only source of light with her. It didn't last long, however, as every daughter of Karsus soon had small, bright lights hovering above their hands and proving how magical they all were. _Dancing lights_ , the spell was called, a power that all drow inherited. The coffee-addict cast some more spells on various torches, creating heatless, bright light that would have stung the elf's eyes if he hadn't been protected by his own enchantments.

“That's better,” she remarked when she was done.

“Still prefer the light, Seraphina?” Felicia asked.

“Still,” Seraphina remarked dryly. Then her eyes went back to Jarlaxle who, at this point, stood next to Athrogate. “Who are you two?”

Jarlaxle immediately took off his hat and bowed. “My name is Jarlaxle, Your Highness, and this is my companion, Athrogate. We are currently employed by your sister, the princess Felicia.” He resumed his previous stance, the hat returning to his head with a graceful flourish.

She examined him from top to toe, her look equal parts appraise and admiration. “She always did have good taste.” Then she turned her attention back to her family. Jarlaxle's face broke into a wide grin.

Chrysanta, the tallest of the blondes, seemed impossible to separate from the exotic Junia, something the latter didn't seem the least bit bothered by. Despite how several of the women, according to Felicia's own words, were mothers, however, none of them seemed in a hurry to wake up their children.

“This might be the only break we'll have from them for many years yet,” Lucinda informed him when he asked them why. “I'll take it while I can.”

“Not to mention my son is a monster when he wakes up,” Seraphina supplied. “Especially if he's hungry.”

“He does take after his mother,” Felicia remarked teasingly and earned a glare in response. Felicia's ensuing smirk suited her well.

Chira arrived not long after, although this time she was accompanied by Aglaia and several clerics. In their arms were nondescript, off-white dresses similar to what Adeline wore and while they needed some adjustments for height and – in Seraphina's case, breasts – they fit the women rather snugly. Felicia, meanwhile, had collected the remaining keys from her sisters and undergone a rather lengthy session of memory retrieval. When she came back, she looked no different, although something about her overall bearing suggested that what she'd remembered had probably been unpleasant.

Despite how charming her sisters had proven to be, Jarlaxle was quickly growing restless. There were still soldiers camped nearby and their lack of retreat suggested the Karanoks were planning something. Even Felicia's words about knowing where and how to find Karsus' inheritance only served as a temporary distraction. While the priestesses of the second temple were a refreshing change from the usual human females he'd come across, the lacklustre atmosphere of the clerics and knights in the third bored him. Felicia's words rang true with him as well – he had no desire to fight for those who didn't have the will to save themselves, no matter how much they paid him. The treasure would no doubt help improve his mood a bit, although he'd also need good food, wine and a beautiful female for the night. Felicia, as attractive as she was, was out of the question. He didn't mix business with pleasure.

There were dragons in the area, though.

His thoughts were interrupted with the sound of stampeding feet and the arrival of a small horde of children of different ages, accompanied by Adeline and Olivia. Two girls in their youth, obviously the eldest in the group, jumped Lucinda. A young boy let out a monstrous roar before he grabbed a hold of Seraphina's arm and refused to let go. Junia was surrounded by a male child, a female toddler and a baby, the latter of which was carried by the first. Finally, Regina embraced two male toddlers with the sweetest voices the elf had ever heard. He noticed the remaining four sisters had no children to reunite with.

“Do we get to see grandpa's treasure now?” the eldest of Lucinda's daughters asked, and soon enough she was joined by all the other children wanting to see what Karsus left them.

The level of materialism in these humans delighted the mercenary, especially considering the area they were in. He waited as the children got dressed and fed and the women were given their respective brews. Still, his eyes never strayed from Felicia as he waited to see what she would do next. For a while it seemed she would be stuck making sure one of Regina's toddlers would keep his clothes on, but when Athrogate stepped in and drew the boy's attention to his beard did she finally get the opportunity to step forth and address the large crowd of clerics and knights that had gathered.

“I will help you on two conditions,” she announced once she had everyone's attention. “First of all, I'm not here to personally shield you. I will need to trust that you're all willing to stand up to the Karanoks and fight. Whether you possess magic or not is of no consequence to them, as they will kill you for your affiliation with Hekate alone. None of you are safe or can negotiate your way out of this. Both of the other two temples attempted that and almost everyone in the first were slaughtered. The Karanoks will kill us all, regardless, if they get their hands on us.” Her gaze swept the crowd. “So, how many of you have the will to fight back?”

Five, tentative hands were raised out of dozens. Jarlaxle shook his head in frustration, but the priestess seemed in no way deterred.

“You lack a cause to fight for, no doubt,” she went on. “How about the lives of everyone around you? Don't they matter to you?”

A few more hands were raised. The mercenary was of a mind to leave immediately.

“Your own lives, then,” she continued. “You can fight and you might die.” She shrugged. “Or you can wait here and definitely die. Consider, then, not what you have to gain, but what you have to lose.”

This time many more hands rose to the air to the point where half the crowd had found their motivation.

“I've made do with less.” Felicia shrugged. “On to the second condition, then. I will need to get a hold of my father's inheritance, which means I have to leave this place behind for a while. It's what I promised Jarlaxle and Athrogate in exchange for them fighting alongside you, and it's of special importance since their payment has already been delayed.”

“I would like to add,” the drow cut in, “that I too, am demotivated by your lack of a fighting spirit. That, I fear, is something no amount of money can change. I won't fight for a lost cause.”

Mutters could be heard among the crowd and looks of fear and concern were shared. One voice rose out above the rest, however, effectively silencing the crowd. The girl who'd lost her lower legs was hoisted up by her fellows and although she was physically impaired, she spoke loud and clear. “They're right! We can't give up now, despite how everything looks. We must gather up our courage and fight back!” The priestesses holding her up carried her over to a table and had her sit so she could tower over the entire crowd. “We can no longer afford to put up with Syntyche's abuses. She's proven time and time again to be the opposite of what a leader should be. If we don't take matters into our own hands, we'll be dead.”

The murmurs of fear were louder this time.

“Look at me!” the girl snapped and indicated the stumps that her legs now were. “I have no lower legs left! I have every reason to give up, but I won't! We have children here and, despite how we've distanced ourselves from Hekate, I know She's still with us.” Her hand came to rest against her chest. “In here. Why else would She send Her last torchbearer our way?” The crowd grew quiet as she spoke. “Remember, the Lady of Crossroads doesn't place pillows under our arms and carry us off to the places we need to be. We need to get there ourselves, but She is with us every step of the way. All the tales of torchbearers and other faithful past promise this. We need to ask Her to come back and then show Her that we're worth the trouble of staying.”

A few more mutters could be heard, but they eventually died down. No more objections came from the crowd and the remaining hands came to join the others.

A smile came to Felicia's face. “What's your name?”

“Arjîn,” the girl replied.

Felicia's smile widened. “Arjîn. I think I can make a priestess out of you.”


	20. Coming apart at the seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little exposure to untangle a web of deceit. But what if this untangling reveals a greater threat than Felicia first suspected?

“I absolutely forbid this!” What veneer of calm Syntyche had possessed earlier had completely vanished. She was flanked by two knights, both of whom had attended the meeting earlier. Everyone else had gathered in the main temple where Felicia had begun the testing, a minor, divine ritual that would reveal who Hekate trusted with directly channelling her power, as well as who among them possessed a talent for the Art. Behind her stood the statue of a tall, three-figured woman and before said monument burned many lit candles. Syntyche had come upon the congregation as they'd moved past her, catching only a few titbits of information and no doubt getting the rest from the knights. “We shall not learn how to channel anything, such things only invite disaster upon our heads!”

“You mean ' _you_ ' shall not learn,” Felicia corrected her. “After all, you channel divine energy with impunity, or so the rumours go.”

Syntyche's expression changed from outrage to fake humility within a split second. “By Hekate's grace, I do.”

“How accustomed to witnessing magic are you all?” Felicia went on, addressing the crowd directly. “Has Syntyche ever demonstrated her powers to you?”

“A couple of times,” one of the priests told her. “Healing some minor injuries and performing some divinations.”

“How accurate were they?” her sister Olivia asked. She was a fine wizard with a special talent for scrying, runes and other forms of magically gathering information. Even though she never specialised in that school of magic, she had become a capable loremaster in her time all the same.

“Very!” one woman called out, an elderly lady who had taken to stand next to Syntyche.

“They're rather generic, actually,” a much younger priestess said and the remaining crowd muttered their agreement. “I got more out of doing my own.” Several clerics nodded their agreement.

“We usually go to Aysun for predictions about the future,” one of the knights not by Syntyche's side supplied. “She's very accurate, almost disturbingly so, and her advice has saved many lives.”

A smile grew on Olivia's face. “I'll have to test you, then.” The priestess named Aysun smiled bashfully. It pained Felicia to see Hekate's faithful reduced to such a state and she felt nothing but loathing towards their “high priestess”.

“When Syntyche heals people, does she do so using her hands?” Felicia went on. Not a single member of the crowd nodded, though several of them shook their heads.

“She uses a wooden stick,” one of the knights clarified, a young man just barely out of boyhood. “My name is Leonidas, lady torchbearer.”

“Felicia,” she corrected him. “What titles we have in the church denote only our individual responsibilities. We address each other by first name.”

Syntyche scoffed. “That tradition died years ago.”

“I'm sure you did everything in your power to make that so,” Felicia shot back dryly, “just as you use magic wands to give everyone the impression that you possess the favour of Hekate.”

Shocked gasps and murmurs sounded from the clerics and knights and a lot of eyes turned to Syntyche, awaiting her response. A heavy silence followed. The guilty look on the high priestess' face was clear for all to see.

“You didn't think this through, did you?” Chrystalia remarked dryly, sounding utterly unimpressed.

“She didn't count on a _real_ torchbearer coming to visit,” Seraphina corrected, “let alone for her seven sisters to wake up.”

“Is this why you actively discouraged arcane magic?” Felica pressed. “To make sure no-one trained in the Art could call you out on your fraud?”

“The torchbearers must have known, though,” Adeline cut in. She turned to Syntyche. “When did you become 'high priestess', exactly?”

Syntyche pressed her lips tightly together and her face looked sour. She crossed her arms to add to her defiance.

“After the last torchbearer died,” the voice of Aglaia called out just as she stepped into the room and past the knights, “but Syntyche does have magic, otherwise she wouldn't be able to activate magical wands, and she's served the temple most of her life.”

Syntyche raised her chin as if she'd somehow emerged victorious. Felicia sent one look behind her, however, and Jarlaxle stepped up next to Aglaia. “No Weave magic,” he said. “The sensation is exactly the same as with the Shade. A great nothingness.”

Some among the crowd went from confused to angry. Aglaia looked back and forth between Jarlaxle and Felicia. “What do you mean?”

“Would you care to show us some of that magic of yours?” Felicia set her gaze back on the high priestess. “Not that we claim to be at the level of our father, but I like to think my sisters and I know a thing or two about the arcane.”

Jarlaxle shot her a sardonic smile.

All eyes turned on Syntyche in anticipation. To her credit, she managed to set her jaw and go into the casting of one spell. Felicia's fey senses didn't feel even the slightest spark, yet she saw the shadows twist and bend behind the priestess. Just like the Shade. Syntyche wasn't just a shallow opportunist – she was an outright traitor.

“Lucinda.” She said her sister's name, but even before she'd come halfway through it did the brown-haired warrior-druid launch her Karsus-given dispelling power on Syntyche. The magic resisted it the first time, but not the second. Her shadow went still and the high priestess' face went from hardened to shocked. She stared at her hands in befuddlement as if she couldn't quite understand what had happened. “That's indeed not the Weave that you draw from. Would you care to explain, then, how a 'high priestess' of Hekate ended up drawing her magic from the Shadow Weave? In a church where doing so is forbidden?”

Even more members of the crowd grew angry now and rose from their seats to face Syntyche directly. “You didn't!” One man in particular, dressed in the same robe as the priestesses rather than the typical priest attire, his face painted and his ears, wrists and hands adorned with golden jewellery, addressed the high priestess directly. “You promised to help me! You said you would cure me of my affliction, make me as I was truly meant to be.”

Felicia wondered what he meant by that.

What veneer of civility that Syntyche had displayed before was now gone. She shot the man a contemptuous sneer. “Transmutation is weaker with the Shadow Weave, so I chose not to learn it. I couldn't have helped you even if I wanted to. Which I don't.” She spat on the floor in clear disgust of the man. “You may remain an abomination for all I care.”

The man's arms fell to his sides. Gasps and shocked murmurs sounded from several priestesses and he earned a lot of sympathetic looks. More angry members of the crowd rose to their feet. The knights that stood on either side of the priestess merely stared blankly ahead. It puzzled Felicia that they hadn't reacted to the news yet. Was Syntyche using some foul enchantment to control them?

“Get away from her knights,” Felicia called out. Adeline and Lucinda rushed forth, apparently having sensed the same as she, and used magic to fly over the crowd to get to the knights. Jarlaxle moved in as well, the blunt pommel on his rapier leading. Aglaia rammed into his mid-section as she sought to run away from the knights, or so she probably meant for it to appear. Her voice held a hint of deceit as she cried out and her movements didn't seem as natural as they would have been had she genuinely wanted to get away from the warriors. The drow doubled over even as the girl ran past him, and Syntyche let out her command word. On either side of her the knights snapped to attention and raised their spears at the unarmed clerics in front of them.

Lucinda and Adeline barrelled into their respective warriors and the quartet took a most undignified tumble to the ground. Something fell from the priestess' gown as chaos ensued, a small, black stone that slowly grew larger. It was a type of stone that Felicia knew all too well.

Syntyche wasn't just a Shadow Weave user, she realised with a sense of dread filling her, she knew one of Karsus' most intimate secrets. How was that possible?

There was no time to evacuate everyone, and the “high priestess” teleported away before anyone could reach her. Her mocking laughter echoed across the room, even as Felicia rushed towards the chardalyn that was now the size of a lung. Panic had struck the crowd, unsurprisingly, but she didn't dare summon forth a _dimension door_ so close to a world-ripping device. She jumped on top of the crowd, using people's heads and shoulders as stepping stones, and earned a lot of indignation for her efforts. One man became so angry that he grabbed her by the ankle and sent her crashing into the floor only to point a finger at her as he no doubt planned to give her a piece of his mind. The back of Felicia's head had hit the floor hard, however, and she was too busy feeling dizzy and in pain to register the words that came out of his mouth.

A tremble went through the crowd during the man's string of spitting and cursing, however, and a wave of sheer, arcane power knocked everyone off their feet. Chrysanta, Karsus' pride and joy in all social gatherings, the sweetness to his bitter undeath, had released one of her unique powers upon the crowd in sheer rage. “Run, Felicia! Stop it from doing what Syntyche wants it to do!”

It wasn't hard to guess what her sister meant, but her force wave had left Felicia's body as unresponsive as everyone else's. While originally intended to disrupt a phaerimm's flight, it also had the added benefit of rendering an angry mob powerless. Quite handy when you were royalty.

“Tch,” Seraphina's voice said somewhere on Felicia's left and the sorceress looked up to see her arcanist sister utter the words of a spell that Karsus had taught to Felicia only, or so she had believed. It still took several long seconds before Felicia could get up and see what had happened, but the general lack of a vortex bode well. When she finally got on her feet she saw the chardalyn at the size of a man's torso, but no longer growing. “Remind your future torchbearers to surround their temples with _Rend Shadow Weave_ , will you? I don't plan on staying.”

Jarlaxle, in the meantime, had grabbed a handful of Aglaia's hair and held her at arms length, an annoyed look on his face. Felicia noticed a faint bite mark on his other hand. Aglaia tried to make herself heavy by going limp, but all that resulted in was several hairs getting ripped from her scalp. She cried out in pain, but after seeing her foolish display earlier, coupled with her own suspicions from before, Felicia found it difficult to care.

The drow nearly jumped the girl anyway, grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back in a deadlock. She twisted around and cried out, but all she got for her efforts was a tight binding with Jarlaxle's magical rope. “I've just about had it with your silly antics, little girl,” the elf said coldly, pulling her up on her feet only after he'd made sure the rope was tied securely.

“As have I,” Felicia added and stepped up to them both. “Care to explain why you attacked him when he sought to protect the crowd?”

“I didn't attack-” Aglaia began, her indignation great.

Felicia's anger went from slowly bubbling to a roaring ocean of fury, though it still managed to come out only as cold, pointed speech. “Don't lie.”

“He was trying to kill one of the knights!” she yelled.

“Pommel leading, you lie again,” Felicia said, still with the same cold tone.

“You must have seen something el-”

“Now you underestimate both my vision _and_ my intelligence.”

“I did no such thi-”

“Must I _force_ the truth out of you?” Felicia's voice had risen considerably in volume, which effectively silenced the room. Raising her voice wasn't something she had a habit of doing, but it proved effective every time. “I remember who you were in a past life, Aglaia. My sister's key showed me everything. You were reincarnated specifically for the purpose of absolving your karma.” She narrowed her eyes. “Yet here you are, lying to a senior torchbearer on a very serious topic. Your actions may have allowed Syntyche to escape and if it hadn't been for Seraphina, you would all likely have been dragged through a planar rift.”

The sound of glass being smashed caused the princess to turn around. She saw the chardalyn reduced to dark dust at Chrysanta's feet and a look of blame on the princess' face that was directed at Aglaia. Shocked and angry murmurs sounded from the audience. Felicia noticed her sister's hands had gone slightly blue at the fingertips. Was that what happened to a Weave user if they tried to handle a Shadow Weave item?

“Were you the one who betrayed us to the Karanoks?” came the voice of Chira. The level of pain in her voice was heartbreaking. “Did you help them find the temples?”

Aglaia's face grew set and she didn't answer. Her eyes were glued to the floor and she stood completely still.

Silence reigned and Felicia spent a long time combating her anger. She had to make a decision fast or the rule of the mob would take over. Deep breaths, as her mother had taught her. No matter how she assessed the situation, however, there seemed to be only one solution – for now. “Perhaps spending the night under lock and key will help loosen your tongue.”

The girl glared at her. “Do your worst! This place is already a prison!”

Felicia responded with a mere raise of her eyebrow. Some things hadn't changed one bit.

 

* * *

 

Selene arrived quickly at the head of a host of Hekatean knights, her bow in hand. Her eyes – temporarily enchanted to see in the dark – scanned the area in search of survivors. They'd seen the smoke rising easily enough, but now the rain poured down hard. As such, their hunting dogs were useless and the ground had become muddy and slippery. Still they pressed on. There was much at stake.

They found Felicia over by the burnt ruins of the house she'd described. She was wrapped up in a blanket, leather boots on her feet. On either side of her stood two men, one taller than the other. The men seemed to be arguing with each other. All three looked thoroughly soaked and miserable.

Seeing as neither of them had their weapons trained on Felicia, and two burnt corpses lay on the ground, Selene decided on the friendly approach. She had the knights stay back in a semi-circle, hidden from view by the trees just in case, and stepped into the clearing, her bow at her side. “Felicia!” she called out, although it took her several attempts to get the woman's attention. She came up short when she saw the princess' eyes had been restored. The senior torchbearers had succeeded in their petition to Hekate.

Felicia seemed to look right through her for a second, almost as if she was lost deep in thought. When they finally focused on Selene, however, they lit up. “Selene! You came!”

“As promised,” the priestess said and stepped closer. She noticed the two bandits looked on passively. Damasandra had done Her work. “Are you well enough to travel? The temple is a good distance away, but we can still make it there in time to provide you with food, warmth and bedding.”

Felicia didn't respond, instead she looked around the area.

“I'm glad your eyes are back,” Selene went on. “No doubt you will need some healing for the trauma of-.”

“I've had worse,” Felicia interrupted. Selene had heard rumours of Netherese arcanists and the disturbing things they would do, even to family members, to advance their studies. She'd also heard rumours about Felicia's father in particular and the powerful entity from the Lower Planes he had in his service. She could only imagine the sort of horrors that the sorceress had already experienced. “Did you manage to come here all on your own?” Felicia's question didn't quite register at first, but when it did it drew the priestess' attention back to the present.

Selene was unsure how the bandits would react to the news of a dozen knights lying in wait, but she decided to go with the truth all the same. “No, I came here with a group of temple knights.” As soon as those words left her mouth she felt a strong sense of regret at having revealed that information. Not because of the bandits, as their expressions remained passive, but because of a change that she sensed from Felicia. A change not in demeanour or body language, but in _aura_. Something wasn't right.

“I'm going to need your help to walk,” the princess said even as she rose, and what sensation she'd felt from before was suddenly gone. Selene was unsure how to feel about it all.

“Of course,” she said, put her bow down and approached the blonde. The second she'd walked past the bandits, however, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and then everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after dinner and after installing herself in Syntyche's office, Felicia considered her options. It seemed Aglaia was very much the reincarnation of Selene and the church's history books hadn't treated her well. Selene the Traitor was by far the kindest thing they called her. Her name had become synonymous with short-sighted folly nurtured by political ambition, fake friendship and gestures done in seeming kindness only to be milked for all they were worth later. The true crime of Selene, however, was how she'd sold Felicia – a fellow faithful of Hekate – out to Caelestis Albescu in exchange for his hand in marriage. In so doing, she would then act as Felicia's saviour in order to put the princess in her debt.

The fact that Selene was already married when this happened hadn't seemed to deter her ambition one bit.

Felicia had trusted Selene alright. After all, she'd been – or, rather, appeared – hard-working, cheerful, upbeat and very devoted to her husband and goddess. Caelestis had also done his job of twisting his voice with magic while she'd been captive so she would think him someone else in her father's court. With his connection to Selene, whom Felicia had such a good standing with and would be indebted to, he'd no doubt seen pathways for his own advancements opening. This would then have led to an innocent man's execution, the continued suffering of Netheril's common folk and yet another unscrupulous and conniving noblewoman in Eileanar.

Hekate, however, had wanted things to go in a very different direction.

For Felicia, it had been a humbling reminder of the greatness of gods. Selene, however, had continued to spit at and curse her self-imposed fate. “ _This place is a prison! I will never get anywhere in a temple on the decline all by itself in a desert! I'm meant for greater things than this!_ ”

Her true colours had shown that night.

She hadn't meant for Felicia to lose her eyes. Had the princess not already experienced other, unsettling horrors in Eileanar, either by witnessing one of her father's experiments or being subjected to Lilith's many “games”, the loss of her eyes would have probably traumatised her greatly. The unintended harm to Felicia, however, didn't offer up enough redemption in the eyes of Hekate, who had sent her divine servant down to the earth to recite her judgement directly. Selene was to die and be reborn with the chance of correcting past wrongs and restoring the balance.

As a goddess of death, Hekate taught that such things were not a punishment. Felicia also knew from personal experience that the path to enlightenment was fraught with suffering. Selene had no easy road in front of her. Furthermore, despite all she'd done, Selene had remained a faithful servant of Hekate, which was yet another reason for the nature of the sanction.

It seemed past sins still held great sway, however, and if she had indeed betrayed the church then there was really nothing even Felicia could do.

None of Syntyche's magical items remained, but the princess hadn't expected them to. The archive was intact, however, and Regina, Junia and Seraphina were all busy going through the paperwork to find some clue that would help them find Syntyche. Not that her sisters had some special loyalty to Hekate – apart from Adeline – but they were as fond of Shadow Weave users as they were arthritis and blights. They had experienced run-ins with them before, Felicia had remembered from the keys they'd given her, and this had taught them a very harsh lesson – Shadow Weave users were relentless foes.

The continued silence from the Karanoks also bothered her, especially since scouting reports informed her the army was still in place. For them to still be around suggested they had something up their sleeve. If Aglaia had indeed worked with the Karanoks against Hekate's faithful, then she might know something that would help them. The price for that knowledge would no doubt be steep, however. After all, if she was anything like Selene of the past, then she was no doubt greedy on top of everything else.

She couldn't trust Jarlaxle with such a delicate matter, skilled though he was. He, too, had proven the greedy type and putting herself in his debt would do her own future no good, no matter how big of an inheritance Karsus had left her. It might even be that he'd hatch his own plans for this place. He'd severely underestimate Hekate in so doing, and he wouldn't be the first to make the attempt, but the collateral damage that would inevitably come from such a thing was enormous. No matter how she looked at the situation, she needed to deal with Aglaia herself.

Felicia leaned back in Syntyche's much too comfortable armchair and stared up at the uncaring stone roof above her. She let her jumbled thoughts take their time to untangle themselves, waiting patiently for a solution. When she finally arrived at her answer, it was not what she had expected, but it brought her a great deal of relief all the same.

As her mentor at the temple had once said, being a torchbearer really had its perks sometimes.


	21. A light in darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aglaia receives new hope while Cleon fights hard to find his. Jarlaxle has a most unexpected encounter that leaves him shaken.

The failure of Aglaia's return and the noticeable absence of the drow had Cleon conclude that the girl had changed her mind. It was a shame, but it was probably for the best that she died with the rest. Not that this told him what they should do with the drow and his dwarven companion, but he put such concerns aside as he descended the climb he'd made earlier. He and his brothers hadn't achieved as many victories on the battlefield as they had with muscle only.

He noticed the mule was as eager as him to get back to camp. The sun was low on the sky now. This far south the sun didn't really set or rise, it just popped up on the sky or sunk behind the horizon without warning. Cleon didn't relish being surrounded by complete darkness on his ride back down, and it seemed his mount shared that sentiment.

Unlike his brother, Cleon held a great fear of the dark. It reminded him of things he'd rather forget. As a result he slept with the door open or with his wife snugly tucked under his arm. Her presence alone always calmed him, and she would stay with him, or light a candle for him, until he was sound asleep. That thought caused a pained twitch in his heart. How he missed her! Their children, too. She'd been thick with their third when he left on Theodosius' fanatical campaign.

Not that Cleon didn't hate mages. In that respect he was second only to his overly zealous brother. What he didn't hate were the mundanes in temples like these whose gods were dead or near so. In Cleon's mind, the real threat were those with magical talent, not the ones without. Still, he did as ordered, and Theodosius was the commander in charge.

A gust of wind struck him from behind just as he neared the army camp and sent a dreadful shiver down his spine and across his exposed arms. The mule sped up even more, if such a thing was possible at this point, and Cleon couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched. It sprung to mind eyes in the dark always watching him, watching as he fought against his constraints, watching as he broke free and murdered the necromancer who had kidnapped him, watching as he, a mere child at the time, stumbled and crawled through darkness. The memories caused him to involuntarily shudder and not even the mental image of his beautiful wife managed to calm him.

He was fortunate that a soldier was close enough to take his mule by the reins. The soldier asked for the signal and Cleon showed him his signet ring. His voice helped Cleon put his memories aside and focus on what he needed to do. This wasn't the time or place to fall apart. The mule led him towards his tent where he dismounted on trembling legs. Fortunately, after his ride up and down the mountainside on the stubborn beast, his men would most likely write it down to fatigue on his end. He managed to grumble an order to his sergeant that he was not to be disturbed and, after fumbling about in the darkness of his tent for a while, managed to light a candle that he put on his bedside table.

Getting out of the armour took longer, but the presence of the candle helped calm him enough to get it off. It fell to the ground with an unceremonious 'clang', soon followed up by his pteruges and sandals. He grabbed a clean cloth that lay near his wash basin and took to cleaning himself with trembling hands. The water on his face helped settle the starting nausea, and cleaning off the sweat, dirt and grime from the day made him feel clean. It would still be a while before he could wash his hair, but he'd deal with that in the morning. He stumbled once on his way to bed and even as he pulled the blanket over his body did the trembling start.

Cleon Karanok sang a song to himself, then, albeit softly, a tune that his wife had sung when he'd first met her. Doing so brought her before his inner eye and, combined with the light of the candle before him, he was able to still the worst of his shaking fit. His stomach rumbled with hunger, so he grabbed what stored food he still had once he was calm enough and ate what he had room for. It was a far cry from the gourmet meals that he enjoyed at home, but it was enough to fill his stomach and help him sleep. He still felt someone's eyes on him, but the sensation was more distant and had less of an impact. Whatever it was, it didn't seem interested in following him into the camp.

It was probably a demon summoned by one of those witches – either the yellow-haired one or the one whose fighting skills were better than most of his soldiers – to spy on the camp. That conclusion took root and it helped him renew his motivation for righteous murder. Whatever his brothers had to say on the issue, Cleon would be the one to kill those two witches. His fingers closed in around the small chest with the “gift” that had been meant for the drow and he tucked it safely under his bed. The witches wouldn't even know what hit them.

He fell asleep dreaming about desecrated temples to “Hekate” and witches burning alive while screaming in agony.

 

* * *

 

The cells underneath the temple left much to be desired. While they were clean due to the dutiful cleaners that had come down there on orders from Syntyche to mop up after the people she'd imprisoned once she took on the mantle of 'high priestess', they were also dark and desolate, with no hope of light beyond the torches hanging on the wall. Hekate was goddess of darkness, but even so Aglaia felt her spirit dwindle in this place.

In truth, the church of Hekate had proven just as useless to her as the one to Tchazzar. There was nothing for her to gain there, but the journey back home was too dangerous to make on her own. With the last torchbearer dead, Syntyche had forbidden anyone in the three temples from leaving, apart from personally approved clerics who went on specific tasks for her. Usually trade.

Cleon had offered her a way out, but he'd proven to be a Karanok and had betrayed her trust. His words about Felicia had struck a chord within her, for in Chessenta, cynicism and mistrust were the only tools that would help her survive. What had Felicia done for Aglaia, anyway? She'd helped the clerics and the children, but what had Aglaia got out of it? It was all done with demands for a return favour anyway, and not out of the kindness of her heart. Everything had a price. On top of that, the blasted princess had thrown her in prison. She, a mere child!

She'd spit on Felicia's grave if she lived long enough to do so.

As if on cue, a group of clerics came down, the sound of keys jingling. Had the blonde bitch decided that she needed Aglaia after all? A wicked smile curled around the girl's lips. The price would be steep, then. No way would she help anyone simply out of the 'kindness' of her heart. Such motivation was for fools only.

To her surprise, the priestesses walked right past her and started opening the cells to every door except hers. She called out to them, but they ignored her.

All the other prisoners were set free, however. Some needed more help than others to move, but with gentle coaxing and news of the removal of Syntyche and a surviving torchbearer were most of them able to find their strength to walk. In a few cases, the clerics had to bring water to the prisoners, but in the end all the cells were emptied, except Aglaia's.

“What about me?” she asked in the end.

One passing priestess stopped briefly and looked at her as if she was a silly, little creature. “What about you, traitor?”

The name hit her in the gut and her face fell, but she spoke all the same. “Aren't you going to let me out, too?”

Mocking laughter and the cleric's retreating back was her answer. Anger rushed up inside her. That was one priestess she'd be happy to throw into a cell and let starve.

Aglaia remained imprisoned, fuming with resentment and digging herself deeper into a mentally dark corner. When the sound of footsteps reached her next, she greeted the stranger with an angry growl. To her surprise, however, it was the young scout, Leonidas, who had come to speak with her. Her eyes grew wide and she quickly muttered an apology. “I thought you were Felicia.”

“And that was your idea of a clever way to greet her?” he countered, blame in both his eyes and voice. “You're already neck-deep in trouble and you decided to make things worse?”

She glared. “If the only reason you're here is to shame me further, then you can leave.”

“No,” he replied. “I'm here to help you, but you have to face some harsh truths about yourself first.”

At first she made a face, but when that resulted in a glare in return, she looked down and nodded. “Fine.”

“Felicia believes you are the reincarnation of Selene,” he began, earning a mocking laugh in response. “I believe this, too.” Aglaia grew quiet and looked back up at him. “You have all the symptoms of Selene in you. Two spirits that have been so strongly torn apart that it appears as if they're two different people altogether. One that wants to be a part of a community, to have friends and go on adventures, and another that wants to be a queen on a throne, surrounded by a pile of bones.”

There was a moment's silence as Aglaia felt the description hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. “I _do_ want to be a part of the church, but I also want power, it's true.”

“Furthermore, the karma of Selene is yours as well,” Leonidas went on. “She betrayed Felicia, a fellow priestess, to a Netherese wizard, and you betrayed the church to the Karanoks.”

“I didn't know he was a Karanok!” she began, but Leonidas shook his head.

“Selene didn't intend for Felicia to lose her eyes, either,” he reminded her. “Your intentions mean nothing when your tactics lead you to sign up with devils. If anything, it speaks to poor judgement on your part, though you can be forgiven for it because you're so young.” Then he paused. “That poor judgement led to the deaths of dozens of clerics and children, however. The karma from Selene has actually grown worse in this life.”

Aglaia's shoulders slumped. “I _did_ get Felicia to help the people in the second temple.”

“And Selene got the senior torchbearers to summon the phoenix to regrow Felicia's eyes,” Leonidas countered. “That still doesn't take away the damage that was done.”

The girl huffed and crossed her arms in defiance. “She wasn't exactly traumatised by the situation. If anything, the tales all tell how she brushed it off with little to no ill effect.”

“She's a daughter of the most powerful archwizard the world has ever seen,” he reminded her. “The clerics and children of the second temple aren't so lucky. Chira was temporarily paralysed and Arjîn lost her lower legs. Not to mention they witnessed several of their fellow priestesses get killed. As for Felicia, it was still a betrayal of a fellow cleric.”

Aglaia didn't argue that part. “But Selene was still killed.”

“Because she refused the alternative,” Leonidas supplied. Aglaia blinked, surprised. She hadn't read about this anywhere.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, confused.

“It's a bit of lore that's kept only in a few tomes here in the third temple,” he began. “In the records it says that Selene's punishment was to be ten years of servitude to the church, in which time she would participate in the healing of her soul. By refusing, she made that healing more difficult for herself – for you – than it needed to be.”

There was a moment's pause. “That was extremely stupid.”

Leonidas nodded. “And if you continue to resist and resent Felicia, it will only get worse.”

“Selene was driven by jealousy,” Aglaia recounted. “Felicia represented everything she wanted, but believed she couldn't have by socially acceptable means.” She leaned back and examined her own feelings on the matter. Jealousy was indeed one of the ugly emotions she felt. “I want magic, and she has it in abundance. I want the favour of Hekate, and she's a senior torchbearer.” A lump formed in her throat and she found it hard to speak. “I want a place in the church where I'm respected and looked up to. I've worked so hard for it, and she just waltzes in from afar and gains it almost immediately.” Her lower lip trembled and she gave up on speaking at this point. A choked sob escaped her lips, followed by a pitiful sniffle. “I don't-” she began, but her voice cracked and her eyes grew wet. Another choked sob came and tears started running down her cheeks.

“You don't want to be the traitor,” Leonidas finished for her. She nodded, tears and snot running freely, and she wondered how he was able to understand her so well.

“How do you-” she managed to choke out in between hard bouts of crying.

“I was Selene's husband in my past life,” he explained. There was a slight upturn of the corner of his lips at that, as if it was a joke at his own expense. “Alexis was heartbroken when he heard her announce that he was just a stepping stone, easily discarded in favour of some Netherese nobleman.”

Aglaia felt a pang of sympathy for him, especially considering how helpful he was towards her. “I'm so sorry!”

He shrugged. “It wasn't your doing in this life. Alexis chose to be reborn so he could help Selene heal. That's why I'm here, and it's what ties me to you.”

She broke down in a mess of tears. Her brain became a chaotic jumble of conflicting thoughts and previous resentment washed away in favour of a guilt so strong it felt as if it was being carved into her very bones. Chira's paralysis punched her in the gut, even though she had been healed. Arjîn's stumps of the legs she'd once had felt like a stab in the heart and stomach. The trauma of dead children and clerics came next, unbidden, unwelcome and with the force of an enormous wave. It rode her through another bout of uncontrollable sobs and left her trembling like a leaf and aching for forgiveness. She was so very, very sorry.

“I'm sorry,” she managed to convey with a pitiful voice, great sadness following after her previous, emotional turmoil and leaving her drained. “I'm so sorry.”

There was a moment's silence and then the sound of footsteps came. Those footsteps were few, however, and much closer than Leonidas' had been. Stepping up next to the boy was none other than the lady torchbearer herself. Aglaia felt at first humiliated, for she didn't want the princess to see her this way, but there was something in Felicia's bearing, a gentleness in her eyes, that gave pause to the girl's train of thought.

The blonde held neither pity nor blame in her voice when she spoke. “I believe you.”

Aglaia sobbed even harder.

 

* * *

 

It would seem, despite her moral grandstanding, that Felicia was quite the clever diplomat. Jarlaxle watched as Aglaia was released from her cell and followed the princess out of the prison area, Leonidas being just one step behind her. It seemed he served as extra security as well. So perhaps Felicia didn't fully believe the girl after all? Well, neither did the drow. Anyone could turn to fake tears to move the hearts of the gullible, after all. His respect – and subsequent wariness – for the torchbearer grew.

He moved, though it was a slow process to disengage himself from the rocky wall that he'd magically merged with earlier, almost akin to walking upright while covered up to his hips with water. It was a handy enchantment to use when he wanted to spy on people or avoid a powerful enemy, but undoing it was always a tedious project, at best.

When he had finally freed himself from the wall's rocky grasp he took a moment to examine the prison. There were no more prisoners left, at least on this level, though there didn't seem to be any stairs leading further down. He also doubted that such a secluded temple needed more than one level anyway. As well-travelled as he was, he'd never heard of Hekate until he met Felicia, after all. Not to mention the princess had taken quite a bit of time to divulge her goddess' name to him _and_ she'd stated earlier that they were an esoteric sect.

What he'd understood from some of the things that human clerics had told him – the human clerics that hadn't been afraid of him – was that many temples dotted the surface world of Toril, dedicated to gods forgotten over time. It would appear this was such a place, though Hekate hadn't died from lack of worship, or Felicia wouldn't have been able to cast her divine invocations. Unless there was some other power at work pretending to be Hekate.

“The exit is that way,” said a female voice, successfully interrupting his thoughts and catching him so much by surprise that he had a wand out in his hand before he could stop himself. Before him stood a beautiful human female – by human standards, of course, but he wasn't complaining – with skin the same tone as the Chessentans, her curly hair a dark brown and her dark eyes piercing through him and making him feel bare and exposed despite all his protective enchantments. He didn't lower his wand, if anything that sensation caused him to grip it more tightly. Who was she and when had she appeared? More importantly, how had she done so without him noticing? One of the things that was so blissfully predictable about humans was how much noise they made when they moved, especially to his keen drow ears. He hadn't even sensed her presence.

She wore a long, white dress similar to the priestesses' attire, but her wrists were adorned with golden jewellery and a golden crown rested on her head. Jarlaxle momentarily put aside his paranoia to appreciate the skilled craftsmanship that had gone into it all. He noticed a golden key hung from her belt and on her feet were golden sandals. Something seemed familiar about those feet, though he couldn't remember where he'd seen them before.

“So are your fellow priestesses,” he countered, wondering if she really was another priestess and if so, what she was doing down there.

A small smile graced her youthful face. Something about her gaze suggested she was far from young, however. “Dinner will be served soon, a small feast to honour the heroes who saved the children and clerics of the second temple. Aren't you hungry?”

If he didn't know better, it sounded as if this mysterious woman was trying to hide something from him. He'd fully explored what there was to the prison, however, so unless there were hidden doors or magical portals anywhere...

Realisation dawned on him and he flashed the woman his most charming smile. Well, he tried. Somehow he couldn't bring it up to par to its usual excellence and that bothered him more than a little. He did manage to lower his wand, though, and that came a lot easier to him by contrast. Peculiar. She seemed to appreciate it, though, judging from the way her smile widened.

“My natural curiosity cannot be contained,” was what he intended to say, but the following words came out instead: “my natural curiosity got the better of me, My Lady.” He blinked, unsure where that had come from. In addition he felt greatly puzzled by how apologetic he'd just been towards a total stranger, let alone addressed her in a way that was ordinarily reserved for noblewomen.

Her eyes sparkled with merriment, though if it was at his words or expense was impossible to say. _Impossible_. How was that something that could occur to him, the master manipulator of Menzoberranzan? Now _that_ was something that should be impossible, yet here she stood and he couldn't read her at all.

“You'd best get going, then.” Her words cut through his myriad of conflicting thoughts and his feet moved without him intending them to. He activated an enchantment to check if his body was magically controlled, but the dweomer informed him of the opposite. “There's lots of humans upstairs who would be happy to shower you with their gratitude.” He managed to will his natural-born drow spell resistance into aiding him, but even then his feet kept moving. This wasn't a spell he was under, but that knowledge only magnified his confusion. It wasn't until he was at the base of the steps that led back up to the main area that he managed to stop his feet and turn back around. When he returned to his previous spot, however, the woman was no longer there.

Something quietly nagged at him, a realisation that he wasn't quite ready to accept. He had the option, now, to look for hidden doors and see if there was more to this place, but to his own surprise, he'd lost interest. His feet took him back to the stairs, this time on his command, but even as he left he got the distinct feeling that he would be back, and soon. The woman hadn't been hostile towards him, but her very being demanded respect in a way he'd never encountered before, not even in a matron mother. His puzzlement stayed with him during his entire walk to the dining hall and didn't leave until much later that night, when he kissed a sleeping priestess good night and sneaked off into his appointed guest chamber.


	22. The power of wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When both sides have the wits to pull through, but one has the most power, it seems clear who will win. Is that always the case, however?

“Begin.” The command was spoken so simply and casually that, if it had been anyone else, it would have sounded like a farmer deciding on which seeds to plant or a young noblewoman picking out her dress for the next ball. Karsus was neither of these things, as Felicia knew all too well. In fact, when it involved her it usually had something to do with either an experiment or a combatant. Today it was the latter.

Karsus being Karsus, he'd monopolised Eileanar's gladiator arena for just this purpose, naturally. On one end stood Felicia, dressed in nothing but her priestess gown, holy symbol, sandals and expensive spell components and on the opposite end was her father's newest acquisition – a dracolich. Lilith, of course, sat next to the archwizard and clapped her hands excitedly. A scorching hot sun shone down on the sands and, judging from the blue colour on the rotting bit of dragon scale that still clung to the undead dragon, it was easy enough to deduce its chromatic nature and the kind of element it belonged to.

Chromatic dragons were the ones hostile to mankind by default, and blue dragons breathed storms of lightning on their foes. Their sheer size aside, they were also highly resistant to sorcery, and while she'd progressed well as a torchbearer, she was far from able to affect such a creature with her spells. Its undead nature lent it many immunities as well – the only thing able to match it was probably a tarrasque or an archangel. She could use her spellfire, but seeing as her current enemy was able to take flight, that would most likely lead to an overly dramatic display in the skies. That, in turn, would then bring about full discovery of her power by every arcanist in Netheril. The ensuing destruction that would follow in the wake of their vicious and short-sighted ambitions might very well lead to the end of the empire. Karsus would also punish her severely. No, a test like this was most likely one of wits and courage, not power.

To say that the idea of facing such a creature terrified her was an understatement. Her stomach churned from the very thought and her heart was in her throat. As it was with Karsus, however, fear wasn't an option and only death awaited her if she gave into it. All she could do to survive was take a deep breath and swallow hard.

Her father probably didn't expect her to defeat the dragon with spells, though he never divulged his reasons or the nature of his tests to her. That, in turn, was the ultimate test – to see if she could discern his intent.

She had a few suspicions already, but she kept her thoughts silent so Lilith wouldn't catch on. Felicia had made the mistake, once, to correctly guess at Karsus' intentions and the telepathic demon queen had informed him. That had resulted in him changing the test to something completely unexpected and she'd very nearly died as a result.

The beast let loose its great wings, now freed from the shackles that Karsus had put on them, and took to flight. Felicia was nearly knocked off her feet from the sheer force of the wings' beats, and she closed her eyes and mouth to protect them from the minor sandstorm that followed. Unsurprisingly, the dragon decided to fan its wings some more in her direction, probably planning to use the sand to choke her to death.

It severely underestimated her in so doing, however, and after chancing a slight peek to ensure there was enough sand to hide her from view, she ran over to the nearest wall and set to cast a spell. Normally it required the usage of sesame seeds to work, but Felicia had learned to use her magic without relying on such cheap and simple spell components. Her fingers moved in a square pattern across the rough stone surface and she managed to utter the words of the spell before a coughing fit overtook her. It had been successfully cast, however, and a doorway appeared in the wall. She crawled through, and although the sand followed her inside, she was able to get a gulp of fresh air in first. Using that to her advantage, she left behind a permanent image of herself still in the arena, choking on the sand. Then she dispelled the _passwall_ spell.

She doubted the dragon would be fooled for long, but she'd bought herself some time, and that was exactly what she needed. Dracoliches, like regular liches, had one weakness – their soul jars, also known as _phylacteries_. It was something she'd learned during her studies in the temple of Hekate – and as that thought struck her did she understand her father's intent behind this test.

How much did she know about undead and how to fight them? As always, a paper and pen test was “overrated”.

She called upon one of her Hekate-given powers of magic-detection and went in search of the phylactery. Unsurprisingly she came across several of her father's wards, all put in place to keep her from using her spells to escape the arena. As if she would! After all the tests he'd put her through already, she knew better than to expect him to make an exception in this case, and the consequences were never worth it.

Her cantrip didn't inform her about any phylacteries in the near vicinity, nor did she find any on her run down the hall. That told her more than if she hadn't cast it, however, for it could be blocked by certain types of barriers, like stone walls for instance. She continued on in the direction that her intuition told her to go, for that had yet to be blocked, and unsurprisingly, she ended up facing a large stone wall.

Wards were visible on both doorways leading from that location, suggesting that Karsus didn't want her to use the usual route. It would be an easy thing to cast another _passwall_ spell, but she didn't want to waste it if there was another way to get to the soul-jar. Being a sorceress, she was able to cast more spells within a day's cycle than an arcanist, but she'd read too many stories about overly gluttonous sorcerers to indulge. She also remembered the feeling of powerlessness in the cabin on the night of her initiation, after she'd been drained of all her magic, and it wasn't something she was keen on repeating. An idea struck her, however, and she turned around and went back the way she came.

The auras on her father's wards were powerful, but they didn't overwhelm her like they had just a few years ago when she just started practising her sorcery. Karsus had informed her that such things would affect her less the more accustomed she became to weaving spells. It seemed she'd grown quite a bit, then.

This wasn't the time for celebrations, however, especially as she rounded one corner and came face to face with Lilith. Her mind immediately went blank, an instantaneous reaction she had whenever the demon queen was around. A roar from outside sounded, and it was loud enough to even cause Lilith to cover her ears and grimace. Felicia fell to the ground, covering her ears from the sheer volume, but even as she did, she looked down so the succubus wouldn't see her lips moving to the chant of a _stoneskin_ spell. She sprinkled diamond dust from one pouch on herself during this process and it sunk into her skin exactly as the roar was over and her spell was finished. The pouch was placed back on her belt and she looked up to see realisation dawn on Lilith's face.

It was quickly replaced with boredom. “You know such protections won't work against me.”

Oh, she knew. She kept her thoughts quiet, though, and when she got back up on her feet, she turned tail and ran.

Felicia could easily picture Lilith rolling her eyes. “Now you're just silly! Good thing for you I'm in a good mood. I'll give you your pathetic little head start if it's so important for you.”

As it was, a head start was the opposite of what she wanted. “Actually, I was just thinking I would get a better aim for my spellfire this way.”

Lilith was on her in an instant, claws leading and equal amounts of rage and fear written on her face. They went crashing into the ground, the impact creating a great deal of noise, especially with how the sheer strength of the demon created a large crater beneath them. Ordinarily this would have been enough to kill Felicia, but her spell held true and she'd taken only minimal damage. A bit of stabbing pain in her side, her ankle a bit bruised and she'd had the wind knocked out of her, but she'd be fine. Lilith's clawed hand was held high, however, and that was definitely an impact she wouldn't live through. Somehow, even though she had a plan behind her actions, that thought made Felicia smile.

Through the wall beside them, unannounced and raining hard rocks everywhere, came a much larger claw, stripped of what scales it had in life. The dracolich's clenched fist connected hard with Lilith's form and sent her flying down the hall. Felicia heard impact after impact take place, the demon queen's form conveniently creating a path directly to the dragon's phylactery. The debris from the dragon's fist also came to cover most of her body, yet somehow landed in a way that gave her just enough space to cast another spell, yet conveniently hid her from view. She didn't use her magic quite yet, however, as she didn't want to alert the dangerous creature to her presence.

Once Lilith's flight had ended, Felicia heard the loud and deep voice of the dragon ring out above and around her. “Keep your talons off my prey, demon, or I will tear you apart next!”

At this point, Lilith had probably realised that she'd been tricked by Felicia, something her demonic pride and anger wouldn't let go of any time soon. The princess wasn't disappointed. “That little witch has been my prey for much longer, you rotting worm! Back off now before I send you to the afterlife where you belong!”

Felicia covered her ears, very glad for the amount of rocks surrounding her, just in time as a dreadful roar sounded above her. It shook her to her core and left her feeling dizzy and light-headed, even as the sounds of battle followed. She spent many long seconds lying still and slowly regaining her senses. When she did, however, she immediately cast a spell that summoned forth a translucent doorway in the air. It took her away from the pile above her and right in front of the hole in the wall that Lilith had left behind. Sounds from the fighting came from outside, and with the two powerful beings distracted, she slipped into the next room undisturbed.

Unsurprisingly, an _anti-magic field_ trap went off, something she immediately realised from the familiar sensation of dulled senses, and two iron golems advanced on her. It seemed her father didn't want her to forget her studies of the arcane, either. She backtracked with a back flip and a roll until she was out of the spell's area and, consequently, on the other side of the wall. The golems continued advancing but stopped right in front of the hole, conveniently standing in a place where neither her magic or spellfire worked.

Never would Karsus make things easy for her. No spell of hers would have any effect on the golems as the field would simply suppress it – and golems already sported many immunities in that respect. Considering how powerful the archwizard was, the trap would also last long enough for either Lilith or the dragon to come out victorious and then come after her.

Anti-magic fields weren't without their limitations, though. She couldn't cast spells into or within it, but she could cast one past it. It was a huge gamble to take considering she didn't know what traps or creatures awaited her past the golems, let alone if the golems were restricted to the first room only. They hadn't reacted to Lilith flying through, and while that could be because she went by too fast, it could also be because the wards were set to react to someone's impact on the floor or to Felicia specifically.

She couldn't summon any creatures to aid her, as the field would cause them to wink out of existence. Unless she designated the area for the summoning to be on the _other_ side of the field. There was just the slightest gap between the golems that she could see through, but she took advantage of it and prayed to Hekate for aid. The goddess responded by causing an eagle from the heavens to materialise behind the golems. Felicia held her breath for a split second, but the constructs remained still and inert. She released her breath and immediately instructed the bird on what to do. It flew further into the complex, easily bypassing what was no doubt a whole array of traps and wards, and then picked something up. It then flew right back, and Felicia could barely make out some round object held aloft by a chain.

The summoning spell lasted just long enough for the eagle to reach the anti-magic field, at which point it released the chain from its talons and the phylactery went flying. It didn't break upon impact with the ground, nor had Felicia expected it to, but the field caused the magical aura surrounding it to fizzle out. She waited for a while, about the time it took for a dragon to go crashing into the sand below, and sure enough she heard a dull impact just as she completed her counting.

Now she had only Lilith to worry about.

 

* * *

 

Cleon woke to the sound of his sergeant calling his name. He had a dagger out before he could remember where he was, but fortunately he didn't get so far as to stab the poor man.

“Commander, the men await your orders,” he informed him. Cleon experienced a moment's confusion as he couldn't recall having made any plans for the day beyond having another meeting with his brothers. Well, that and breakfast. Something must have drastically changed if he was to suddenly hand out orders to his soldiers. Had he overslept and his brothers held a meeting without him?

“I'll be out in a minute,” he told his sergeant. The man nodded and left. Cleon got out of bed with a groan and felt the stiffness from the mule ride dominate his legs. That did not bode well for any battles this day. He wasn't so stiff that he couldn't wash up and put on his armour, fortunately, and the sun greeted his eyes roughly as he stepped out of his tent.

“Good morning, brother,” sounded the surprisingly cheerful voice of Akakios. Not that Akakios was ever grumpy or pessimistic, but even he had little reason to sound so chirpy after their defeat yesterday. Then again, he had killed some of his men yesterday, and that sort of heinous act always seemed to make him feel better. “Are you ready? Theodosius and I have laid the plans for our final push against the third temple. He wants to see you to relay the plans before you move out.”

He wasn't sure what part Theodosius thought they could play with all of his archers dead, and most of Akakios' cavalry destroyed. They had some infantry left, but that would hardly be enough. Still, he went to see Theodosius, hungry for breakfast though he was. The middle brother greeted him with a genuine smile, no traces of fear or worry in his eyes.

“Good morning, brother.” He echoed both the words and the cheerfulness of Akakios. Cleon wondered if they'd both taken severe blows to the head.

“It's morning indeed,” he mumbled, allowing his confusion to show, “though whether or not it will be a good one remains to be seen.”

“Ah, but that's where we're one step ahead of you,” Theodosius countered and waved his hand at something behind Cleon.

As it turned out, the “something” happened to be “someone”, more specifically their cousin, Kaestra, and their sister Amalia. Cleon was surprised, because not only was it rare for the women of Luthcheq to step into an army camp, but these two avoided war and soldiers like the plague.

“It's good to see you both, but what brings you here?” he asked, deciding to ignore normal social conduct and simply skip to the case.

The women didn't seem to mind. “Great news, Cleon.” Kaestra, always the assertive one, was the one to speak. “Entropy has finally heard our prayers.”

Cleon blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Kaestra nodded at Amalia. “Show him.”

Amalia didn't speak, merely raised her hand, palm facing upwards, and looked very focused for a while. Then, before he could ask, a flame appeared out of thin air and hovered in the air.

Cleon was immediately startled and backed away on sheer, fearful reflex, his arm coming up to cover his face and the other one reaching for his sword. It took him a while to remember that this was family, although even then he was hesitant to lower his guard. He doubted they were the witches in disguise, because he knew that such illusions required the casters to know of the people they impersonated. The witches were strangers who didn't know his family members that well, although the sight of his sister displaying magic so openly and brazenly still made his stomach churn.

“Not to worry, cousin, this is the will of Entropy, not some arcane spell,” Kaestra said reassuringly. Cleon regarded the display sceptically, unconvinced.

“How do you know it's Entropy and not some false god pretending to be him?” he asked.

Kaestra and Amalia both looked deeply offended, but Theodosius was quick to step in. “This is the women of our family that we speak to, brother. They're the most clever and knowledgeable women in all of Luthcheq. If this was someone other than Entropy, they would know.”

“We've gone many decades praying without any of the clerics receiving spells before,” Cleon argued. That kind of silence would drive many faithful desperate for signs of divine favour. Not that he would say this openly, as the women of the Karanok family were terribly unforgiving of verbal blunders, more so than the men.

For a moment, Cleon noticed a stark similarity between the followers of Hekate and his own family. He kicked that notion aside immediately after it hit him, however. While they both worshipped silent deities, the witches of the temple sought to learn arcane magic while the Karanoks actively fought against it. That was the important part of the issue and anything they had in common was irrelevant.

“Have you not sensed the power shift in the world?” Kaestra countered. “First the Godswar that led to a severe change in the rules for how the false deities may deal with their followers.” She raised one finger per counting. “Then all these wars that have been playing out, one after another. Just look at Rashemen, Aglarond and Thay this past decade.” Her eyes lit up with an almost fanatical gleam. “Rumours have reached us about things stirring in the Moonsea. Whispers come from the jungles of Chult that things are not at all well in the city of Mezro.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand in the general direction of the third temple. “Now a Netherese princess arrives at these temples after nearly two thousand years of unexplained absence, accompanied by a powerful dark elf and his dwarven companion. It's obvious what's going on.”

He didn't see the obvious, by contrast. “And what's that?”

“The power among the false gods is shifting,” Kaestra went on, her face and tone now completely reverent, “and Entropy has sensed the time has come for him to claim his rightful place. That's why he has granted us spells, cousin, so we can help him fight the followers of the deities that he seeks to devour.”

“And I take it Hekate is one of them?” Cleon pressed.

Kaestra looked hesitant before she answered. “I asked, but I have yet to receive guidance on the issue. However, we have come to aid you with Entropy's healing spells and counter the magic of the witches.”

“We've already saved the lives of many soldiers,” Amalia was quick to add. “Entropy is most generous.” She and Kaestra both bowed their heads and muttered humble thanks to their god.

Cleon's eyes went to Theodosius. “What do you make of this?”

“We can locate the temple with your help,” his younger brother reasoned, “but we can't bypass their wards without their complete surrender. And most importantly, we can't convince them to surrender since they now know our offer of mercy is a lie.” He indicated the two women with his hand. “We need their help. However, their magic is divine, not arcane. Healing spells are not for wizards and sorcerers, after all. We won't compromise our oaths by accepting their aid.”

He noticed his brother hadn't said anything about whether or not he believed the source behind the spells to be Entropy. As helpful as healing spells were, Cleon remained unconvinced. The fact that the mysterious source behind the spells was hesitant to give full support to the attack on Hekate's faithful also bothered him greatly. If it was Entropy, why would he be against such a thing? Then again, if it wasn't Entropy, then accepting their aid would compromise their position with their god and bring disaster down on their heads. Many a terrible tale from churches throughout Faerûn promised this.

Cleon also wasn't fond of putting untrained women in among what few soldiers they had left. He already struggled to accept _fully trained and militarily equipped_ women in the army, despite the practical benefits. Now Theodosius proposed they accept not only young, unarmed priestesses into their forces, but their own kin? A part of him wanted to punch his younger brother in his face.

“You look unhappy with our decision,” Amalia observed.

“I am,” he said truthfully. “Even if it's Entropy who has granted you spells, you have no military training, neither with weapons or magical battle. This kind of operation requires careful coordination and whatever plan you three have concocted, we will still be poorly equipped against the foes we face.”

A smirk grew on Kaestra's face. “Not if you give Akakios grandmother's gift.”

Cleon frowned. “How does that help us?”

This time it was Theodosius turn to smirk. “Let me explain our plan to you, brother.” He motioned for Cleon to sit. The eldest hesitated for a whole second, but the smiles couldn't be wiped off of the faces of his family members no matter how long he waited, it seemed. That confidence didn't come from nothing. Despite his better judgement, he decided to trust them and took a seat.

By the time he exited the tent, he went back to his won with reluctant determination. This would either guarantee their success or annihilate them completely.


End file.
